#this sour baby is too pure for this world

[lokischocolatefountain]

Warning || Men Like Me

Masterlist

Fandom: The Last of Us Pairing: Joel Miller x Virgin!Reader Rating: 18+ Warnings: girth age gap, virgin!reader, eventual loss of virginity (not in this chapter), gratuitous descriptions of Joel Miller's body, somewhat creepy!Joel, fetishization of youth, dom!Joel, breaking and entering, playboy magazine, objectification, fingering, sexual discoveries. Word count: 6.2k Summary: Joel's warnings about what men like him would do to girls like you only makes you want him more. A/N: Back in the depths of hell again, you guys. Now this isn't the most depraved thing I've written by any means but it's up there. Come say hi in my chat or inbox, I'd love to talk. Keep a look out for follow up parts and pleeeeease give me comments. I am very very desperate.

Joel Miller was a bad man. That much he knew. 

Even as he fixed taps and renovated houses that were falling apart, he could see the blood on his hands. The very hands that packed lunches for Ellie snapped necks, pistol whipped men, stole from a starving child so he could feed his grown brother. But there were lows even he didn’t stoop down to. 

Not that he didn’t have the opportunity. Men always did. And in this world, opportunities had only tripled. Even the Boston QZ, as strict as it was, had an underground brothel. He knew Tess to frequent it and never asked questions. Sometimes she needed to bury her face between a good pair of thighs and wrap her lips around a pretty pussy, and this wasn’t something he could give her. There was a lot he couldn’t give her.

Being in Jackson should’ve civilized him. It did in many ways. He’d reverted to the southern gentleman with table manners. ‘Yes, Ma’am’ spilled out of his lips effortlessly when he spoke to women. He held the door for anyone walking in after him. He even went to Church– sorry, the multifaith house of worship–to help renovate. 

That was where his troubles began. 

There was no point in him going where people prayed. Being back in civilization did not erase his decades of disbelief in a cruel God who would take his baby and keep him on this accursed Earth. But he did because he was back to being a contractor and Tommy asked him to go fix up the pews instead of him. He didn’t have much time, being a new dad and all.

He was on his knees checking out the rotting wood and evaluating how much wood he’d need for building new ones when he was confronted by a pair of legs and a sweet voice. Yours. 

“Lemonade, Mister Miller?” 

He looked up, his eyes traveling up your legs, bare until he got to your knees where the hem of your flowery skirt sat. Pure, unblemished knees, never taken a fall, didn’t fucking creak, and never knelt before anyone but God. You looked down sweetly, eyes wide and innocent like a newborn cow. Everyone had a kind of darkness about them in this world. Everyone except the kids who didn’t know a world outside the insular walls of Jackson. And you, it turned out, even though you weren’t a kid.

He wiped his sweat off with the greasy rag he carried and looked up at you once again. You had a pitcher and an empty glass in your hands. A sweet smile on your lips and hair falling down your shoulders and reaching your breasts. A yellow ribbon sat in a bow where your neckline dipped between your breasts, adding to the innocence of your look.

“Yes please, Ma’am. Thank you,” he said, giving you a nod. Your pretty plush lips curled up, a giggle escaping them as you poured him a glass of lemonade. 

His hand brushed against yours as he accepted the glass, his hand too large to curl around it without making contact with you. You giggled again before retracting your hand and occupying it with adjusting your hair. 

“I’m younger than you, you know? Don’t have to call me Ma’am.” 

“Just being polite. Ma’am.” He took the glass to his lips, mindful to take only a small sip instead of downing it in desperation. Another adjustment to make when food was no longer a scarcity. Sweet, sour, and salty danced on his tongue before it glided down his throat. Just a sip refreshed him. And the sight of a nice girl didn’t hurt the cause either. 

It’d been so long since he had a nice refreshing glass of lemonade. Summers meant worse infestations of infected, not the barbecues, lemonades, and swimming of past. When surviving each hour was under threat, small luxuries like this became out of reach of even one’s dreams.

“Well, guess I should call you Sir then,” you said, leaning against the wall. You held the pitcher up to your chest and the tails of the ribbon on your chest dipped into it, the soft shiny yellow turning dark, tainted.

His mouth watered and fucking hell, it wasn’t the lemonade you just gave him. He took a sip of the drink and licked his lips, imagining how you’d taste if he wrapped his large hand around your neck and pressed his chapped lips to your plush ones. Better yet, if he held your legs apart and devoured you other pair of lips until you were leaking down his mouth. Would you call him Sir then? His cock twitched in his jeans as he pictured you bent over one of these pews, your skirt pushed up and his hand in your hair as he slid his cock in your hole. 

Jesus fucking Christ! What the fuck was wrong with him? 

“Made the lemonade yourself?” He asked,  groaning as he managed to get himself back up on his feet. His knees creaked like the floorboards of the houses he renovated, but ultimately supported him as he stood. He towered over you, making you appear smaller, more fragile. 

“Depends. Do you like it?” 

“It’s wonderful, of course. Hot summer day like this…I really needed it,” he said, raising the glass up a little before taking another sip. 

“Well then yes, I did make it.”

He chuckled, feeling himself pulled in by your easy charisma. It was nice to have normal conversations like this once again. No agenda, no need for establishing himself as someone who wouldn’t hesitate to beat someone up if even mildly threatened. It was just…normal. 

“It’s very sweet, Ma’am. Like you I assume,” he added, mentally dusting off the part of his brain where he stored skills for conversing with pretty girls.

You laughed, holding your free hand up to your mouth to cover your lips that widened and revealed your teeth. 

“Is that the southern charm that I hear our townspeople talk about?” 

“They talk about my charm? I didn’t hear.” 

“Oh yes, they do… Joel Miller, charming pants off of everyone in town.”

“Pants? Well that’s disappointing. I was hoping I’d charmed some pretty skirts off.” 

“Lots of experience with that, Mister Miller?” you asked, sliding your hand over the soft fabric of the skirt of your dress. Such delicate fabric. He could fist the hem and give it one tug and it’d rip right off.

“More ‘n what you got for sure,” he said, loath to hint at how infrequent his encounters had become in the recent past. Tess died, he did a cross country hike with an annoying kid, he needed to maintain a good reputation in his new town. One buried after the other. Enough to leave a man with nothing but his fist and his imagination. He would kill for a fucking Playboy magazine. Literally. He’d killed for less.

“What do you know about how experienced I am?” 

“Been experiencing longer than you’ve been alive, Ma’am.” 

“Oh well. Nothing I can’t learn.” 

He laughed nervously and stuck his hand in his jeans pocket. Surely you couldn’t be flirting… Why would a young thing like this flirt with him? He was in his late fifties looking like mid sixties and you were… He didn’t know. Young.

“If you could teach me, Mister Miller. Give a girl some experience?”

“I’m sure you can find someone else.” 

“Oh. Not your type, am I?” you asked, and he deluded himself thinking you sounded disappointed. No chance. 

He didn’t have a type. Long time since he thought of frivolous shit like that. But you shouldn’t be his type. 

“There’s much more eligible men in town is what I’m saying,” he said, suddenly hesitant to lie. Lying had never been an issue for him. The right thing was to lie, say you weren’t his type so he wouldn’t cross lines. It’d been a long time since he did the right thing.

“I’ll be the decider of that,” you said with a shrug of your shoulder before taking the empty glass from him. “Have a good rest of the work day, Mister Miller.”

Later that night, he wrapped his fist around his cock in the privacy of his room. His mind flooded with images of you spread out for him, sweet lips and a sweeter pussy milking him. He couldn’t even recall the last time he was with a woman. It was Tess, of course. Sometime before she got thrown in FEDRA jail for the last time. Too fucking long ago.

Surely it was only because it’d been a long time since he got his dick wet. He’d never, in his entire life, pictured a woman so much younger spreading her legs for him. Sucking his cock. Crying out his name. How old was she even? Not past mid twenties for sure.

It was wrong, he knew, as white hot spend spurted out of his cock and covered his hand. A sour tang took over his mouth as the fog of unadulterated lust cleared up to reveal the ugliness in his head. He shuddered, feeling like something had crawled under his flesh. He hadn’t felt guilt like this in so long. 

Wrong, wrong, wrong. 

You weren’t even as old as his kid would be had she been alive. 

He’d known men like that back in the day. Grays in their hair and skin like old leather, but pretty young things old enough to be their daughter hanging off their arm. It was obvious that none of them kept these girls around for love or for their personality. It was always sex and the feeling of self-importance when a sweet young thing paid attention to balding heads, beer bellies and limp dicks that needed a blue pill to get up. 

Fucking disgusting. 

He began avoiding you whenever you happened to be in the same space. At the house of worship, the town clinic where you interned, trading days when people exchanged what they had for what they wanted. His eyes never met yours and he always quickly looked away when they stared too long at your uh…feminine features– pretty legs, cute ass, round tits. Where the fuck did you get sundresses anyway? Who kept that shit around in this world? 

He didn’t know that when he avoided you, you took note of him. When he took glances of your features, you memorized his for later in the night when you buried your head in your pillow and pushed your fingers inside your pussy to simulate what it must be like to be with a man. 

He was older. That much you knew from his grey hair, sun-damaged skin, and gait that exuded bone-deep weariness. You knew Tommy had just turned fifty. Hard to miss occasions that meant a free slice of cake from the canteen. Joel had to be in his mid-fifties at the very least. At first glance, he wasn’t what you’d consider handsome. There were younger men in town. Fit and muscular. Didn’t groan and scrunch up their faces when they got up. Didn’t have lines on their foreheads. No bags under their eyes. 

Yet there was something about Joel that was more entrancing. 

After your first meeting when you offered him lemonade, you made sure to visit under the guise of worship. You didn’t know much about religion and were conflicted about embracing a god. The only faith you had rested in your medical instruments and the medicines the town’s chemist concocted. But it was a nice place to meet people, to check on healing patients.

The visits were worth it for a glimpse of Joel’s large hands wrapped around his carpentry tools. When the sun was the hottest, he sometimes stripped down to his tank top, giving you a show better than any film played in the community theater. His broad back looked masculine enough in his flannel shirts. But you didn’t know desire like the first time you saw him in a white tank, showing off his muscular arms as sweat dripped down his tan skin.

When you pleasured yourself in your room, it took time, imagination, your fingers, and a lot of effort to make slick pool in your pussy. That day, all it took was the sight of Joel Miller working. You sat with your thighs pressed together, rubbing them against each other in the most inconspicuous little movements. 

Could it be blasphemy if the God who was supposedly orchestrating everything made this man take his shirt off in front of you?

It made no fucking sense. Joel was old. He looked like he woke up on the wrong side of the bed every goddamn day. He had been chewed up and spat out by whatever the fuck was outside Jackson these days. Hardened expressions, graying patchy beard, hands calloused from carpentry and decades of using weaponry. Features that only indicated a long life lived, not attractiveness.

You were supposed to be attracted to the soft, sweet ones like the guys in the worn out copies of romance stories that the previous inhabitant of your house stashed in the basement. Even his little brother would be a more reasonable target for your lust. Younger, taller, softer, head full of dark, silky hair with few grays. But you wanted Joel Miller with his rough graying beard that would prick your skin were you to cup his cheek like the women on the novel covers. 

Something about him just screamed Man. Something that none of the other guys in town had. There was nothing wrong with any of the other Jackson men, but none of them made you want to take the plunge and lose your virginity. It wasn’t the lack of offers, per se. You’d gotten looks from many eligible Jackson bachelors. You had drinks with a few of them. Dinner with fewer and shared a kiss with more than one. Alright, two. But anything beyond that had you trembling in anxiety. 

It wasn’t anything precious to you, virginity. But you’d waited so long. Focused so long only on survival and then helping to build this town and now training to become a doctor. Whatever passed for doctor these days. With all your life dedicated to everything but your love life, you simply had no experience. What if you messed up and they laughed? You knew anatomy, but that didn’t translate to practical stuff. What if you couldn’t make them feel good? You’d have to see the guy all the damn time in the small town. There would be no escaping the awkwardness.

Sure it was counterintuitive to keep pushing away sexual encounters because you had no experience. But you didn’t know what else to do. You were too old already to not have done anything. But each day that passed with you rejecting perfectly nice men meant you were getting even older for your first time. 

You didn’t know where Joel fit into your need for exploring your sexuality, but it didn’t hurt to stare. God knew everyone else in Jackson did. 

So you stared. Work with his carpentry tools. Riding on horseback into Jackson after patrol. Helping with the fucking sheep. Walking around with Tommy. Carrying his nephew around town. It should be inappropriate to be fantasizing about a man when he was doing something as innocent as carrying a baby. But seeing his large hand cradling the baby’s little head made you want to scream into your pillow and kick your legs. 

“You alright, sweetheart?” 

Your heart fluttered and you let out a nervous laugh at being caught. You smoothed out the wrinkles on your clothes just to make it look like you were alright. Unfortunately you were wearing a pair of fucking jeans. You didn’t even want to know how awkward you looked. 

“‘m alright, Mister Miller.” 

“Joel’s fine,” he said, rocking his nephew in his arms.

Oh fuck, his fucking arms!

“Oh I don’t know,” you said, fidgeting with a belt loop on your jeans. “Wouldn’t want to be impolite addressing you by your first name like that.”

He smiled, recalling your conversation from the house of worship when you called him Sir and had him fucking himself in the shower to the memory. “Ah. ‘cause I’m an old man,” he said, more as a reminder to himself to fucking behave. 

“You’re not that old…” you trailed, looking him over in a way that set fire to every inch of skin that you laid eyes on.

Behave, Miller. You’re out with your nephew. 

“That so?” he asked, eyebrow raised. 

“Mhmm. You don’t look a day over seventy.” 

He snorted, making Miles stir in his arms just a little. That stung a little. It shouldn’t. Your estimation of his age, whether you were serious or not, was reminder enough that he was too old to be lusting after you.

“Thanks. I’m actually eighty-two.” 

You giggled your pretty little giggle, lowering your gaze to the ground and looking back up only when it had turned into a wide grin. “How old are you actually?”

“Old. Fifty six.” 

“Fifty-six isn’t that old…” you trailed as you brought a hand up to his bicep. Joel gulped, praying to the non-existent God that you would stop before praying to the same God that you would keep your hand right there. God answered his second prayer. You squeezed, licked your lips and looked up at him with your doe eyes.

“Checking if the hardware is still working, Doctor?” 

“I’m not a doctor yet.” 

“When do you become one then? Ain’t no Harvard handing out medical degrees in this town.”

“Howard?” you asked, squinting at him. Ah, of course you didn’t know. Harvard didn’t mean the same thing to you. Now it was just like every other building in Boston. Run over by infected. These ones were just the nerdy kind with glasses on.

“That was a thing, too. But I said Harvard. They were big universities back then.”

“Ah. Did you go there?” You asked, with no malice or bite. Oh, bless your heart. No one expected a dummy like him to have gone to university at all, much less Harvard. No one in his family had gone. Sarah was meant to be the first.

“Yeah. Traded some oxy and threw molotovs at clickers in the campus.” 

You rewarded him with a giggle and that was incentive enough for him to keep going. “Guys like me didn’t get into Harvard. Or Howard. Didn’t even go to community college. I finished high school and got a job in construction.” 

“You didn’t go to uh…construction college?” You asked, cocking your head and raising an eyebrow as though testing out the term.

“No such thing. Well, there were civil engineering programs, but I just learned on the job.” 

“Like me.” 

“Guess so. I see you reading from all those fat medical books. But there’s no need to study any books in construction. ‘cept if you wanna be an engineer or architect or something, which I’m not.” 

“Maybe you should write one. We could all do with some knowledge from before. It’s important to document it, pass it on to Ellie and little Miles over there.” 

“I ain’t writing books, sweetheart. Don’t think I even remember how to write much. I’ll just keep to fixing things up in this town. So, if you need some help with your place…I’m happy to help.” It was the least he could do. Maybe as some kind of penance for having impure thoughts about you. Or as a fucked up trade for starring in the mental images he conjured to jack off in the shower.

“There is something, actually. But I don’t have anything to trade for, so I’ll wait until I do,” you said, clasping your hands behind your back and swaying in place in an endearing manner.

“Nonsense. You patched me up just last week. You’ve done enough for the town’s health to not have to trade for anything ever again.” 

“Well, no. That’s not how it should be… It’s people’s health. Can’t put a price on that.”

“Believe it or not, health had a steep price back in the day. Cost four thousand something just to give birth. Double that if they had to cut you open.” And that was just how much it cost when Sarah was born. He was sure it had only gone up by 2003. If he hadn’t worked his ass off, there was no way he could’ve escaped debt. It helped that his Ma and his then wife’s parents helped with childcare. Would’ve been even more expensive without that.

“Damn. I don’t know how much that is, since…y’know we don’t have money now. But that sounds like a big number. It shouldn’t cost anything just to be born.” 

“Tell me about it,” he said, shaking his head. “But listen. Anything you want fixed, I’ll help out. You can give me something later if you’re worried. I know Ellie’s always on the look for new books to read and you seem to have a lot of them.” 

“Nothing Ellie would like. Not like the special limited edition of Savage Starlight or anything. Just medical textbooks and romance novels.” 

“We could trade for the lemonade from that afternoon,” he insisted, desperate to do something for you. Take care of you as you took care of everyone who walked into the clinic be it papercuts or a fucking knife in their abdomen. 

“Alright. Trade for the lemonade it is then,” you said, giving in to his pressure.

“Now tell me. What d’ya need fixed?” 

⌘⌘⌘

It had been a few days since Joel promised to fix your shower for you. Each time he came by and rang your doorbell, you hid somewhere away from your windows. When he caught sight of you in public, you quickly walked away or engaged in conversation with someone else. You didn’t need shit fixed. Everything in your house was perfectly alright. Tommy and his guys had given the place a complete makeover just a couple months before Joel and Ellie arrived. 

You were no paragon of honesty, but you didn’t make lying a habit. There were a few white lies here and there and this was meant to be one of them. It just didn’t fucking hit you that if you lied to a contractor that your shower was broken, he would eventually come over to fucking fix it. All your desperate sex starved brain wanted that day was for Joel Miller to come use his tools in your room and flex those muscles while at it.

So invested were you in that particular fantasy that as you unwound after a long shift at the clinic, it was with Joel’s beefy arms in mind. You stood in front of your mirror, taking in your reflection. One of the magazines you’d found in a box under your bed laid open on the dressing table. Playboy. Entertainment for Men. Each had a scantily clad woman on the cover. And many more inside. 

You made comparisons to yourself and the woman in the center page of the issue.

She stood in front of a dressing table too, but much different from how you stood. Her legs were on either side of her dressing table chair and her hands on the top of it. Between her arms were breasts, big and round and with smooth skin. They didn’t have any marks on them like yours. No moles, no stretch marks. Just plain. And she just stood there, soft brown hair down, tickling the top of her breasts and her lips parted as she gazed at you. No, at the men she was meant to entertain in this men’s entertainment magazine. All she had on was panties that went high up to her flat belly that connected to high transparent socks.

You reached behind your back and unclasped your bra, wishing that you had something nicer like the woman on the cover of another one of the magazines. Bright red and showing off her breasts wonderfully, but pulled down to reveal almost everything. What was the point of a bra then if it didn’t cover or support anything? Entertainment, you decided. Men seemed to be very entertained by breasts. 

Many a man had stared at yours even though you had them behind layers of fabric unlike the naked women of the magazines. Many had conversations with them instead of your face. Some brushed up against them ‘accidentally’. Joel thought he was being covert, but you felt his brown eyes rove all over them. You thought maybe that he too would brush up against it sometime, but he never did. Maybe entertainment stopped at just looking, as in the magazines. 

You wondered if Joel sought out men’s entertainment magazines like this. He was from before everything went to shit, so it was very possible that he did. Did he like the women in these pages, sticking their asses out and looking through the pages at him? Would he be entertained if he saw you like this? 

You didn’t know that if you turned your head to your bedroom door, you would have your answer. Joel’s cock strained against his already tight jeans as he stood awestruck by your figure. He swallowed as you held on to the top of the chair and lifted your knees, one after the other and placed them on the plush seat. You arched your back, a little too much at first before reducing the curve. Your ass stuck out enticingly and he didn’t know whether to grab, squeeze, slap, or spread your cheeks apart and fuck your ass. 

He should leave. 

It was stupid of him to walk into your house with a box of plumbing tools to fix your shower when you hadn’t yet given him a date or time for it. Plus you were avoiding him. Running away with your little friends and picking up stuff to hide your face from his view. He was plenty sure that when he’d rung your doorbell, you weren’t always away from home. 

He should leave. 

Fixing the shower could wait. He could confront you some other day. 

But you were putting on such a pretty little show in nothing but your panties and he was only a man. A bad one. 

His boots stayed put on your hardwood floors as you enjoyed yourself in front of the mirror. You spread your knees and let your fingers between your thighs, eyes closed, lips parted and low whines escaping your lips in just a few minutes. He palmed his growing erection over his jeans, consequences of being caught be damned. He was a foul beast already. What bad was another sin on the list? Besides, you were the one who’d left the fucking door open. 

Your soft whimpers grew into moans as you brought yourself closer and he forced his feet to stay put despite their urge to walk up to you and give you something to really moan about. 

“Fuu– mmm Joel, pleeease.”

He let out a gasp, all his restraint flying out the window as soon as he heard his name from your lips. You couldn’t actually be doing this… There had to be another Joel in town. Younger, better looking, smarter.

Your voice grew needy and the pitch higher as you kept at it. “Fuck, fuck, fuck! Gimme it, Sir.” 

No, it couldn’t be anyone else. 

Joel toed his boots off and took quiet steps towards you, emboldened by the filth that spilled from your lips. If this old man was what you wanted, he wouldn’t stop himself from reaping the benefits. He wasn’t a goddamn saint. Never was. 

He stopped in front of you, surprised you still hadn’t sensed his presence. As though the universe heard his thoughts, it had you open your eyes. You gasped as soon as you saw him and buckled off the chair, but Joel caught you. You shuddered, unable to cope with the sudden touch. 

“J-Joel?” 

“Yeah, sweetheart,” he said, touching your cheek with the back of his hand. You whined, your body molding itself against his chest. You brought a hand to his arm, feeling the rock hard muscles underneath his sleeves and your other hand worked between your legs.  

Your fingers no longer felt adequate as you felt his large fingers on your cheek. “Want you, please,” you whined, desperate to return to the edge where you had been right before you saw him. 

“You don’t know what you’re asking of me…” he spoke dangerously, soft brown eyes clouded with a kind of desire you had longed to see in him for weeks. 

“Want you…want you to be with me,” you repeated stupidly, your desperation clouding your senses too much for you to say anything else. While in the past you only wanted to get rid of your virginity, your goals had become more specific with his arrival. You wanted him. You wanted his big hands and broad shoulders, to hold on to them as you rode him. To watch his grumpy expressions turn to ecstasy under you. 

“Tell me not to touch you,” he said, his tone low and almost threatening. Any other threat from him, you would’ve heeded. But not this one. 

“Touch me!” 

It was as though something in him snapped at your words. While darkness only loomed over him before, it now completely took over.The hand that previously only caressed your cheek now wrapped itself around your neck. Before you could completely process the move, his other hand slapped yours away. He replaced two of your puny fingers with his middle finger, eliciting a strained moan from you. 

“Touching yourself to a Playboy magazine, huh?” 

You only nodded, unable to form words now that a fantasy of yours had finally come to life.

“Dirty little thing…Thought you were a nice girl and all. Helpin’ out at the clinic, head buried in books all the time. Turns out you actually got your head in dirty magazines.” 

You whined, your pussy clenching and gushing around his finger at the way he was speaking to you. The same man who insisted on calling you Ma’am despite your protests was calling you a dirty girl now. The veil of respectability seemed to have floated away at the sight of you naked and pleasuring yourself. Had you known that this was all you needed to get Joel Miller to touch you, you would’ve done it much sooner.

He added another finger, the girth of him enough to stretch you more than you had done for yourself. You brought a hand up to his shoulder and fisted his shirt, needing something to anchor yourself to. 

“You ever been taken by a man, sweetheart?” He asked, his tone too cool and casual for what he was doing to you. You shuddered, partly from his phrasing– taken, he said. Taken. Like you were a thing. Like the women in the magazines positioned so uncomfortably just so their breasts could look a certain way for the picture. Printed on the cover page with the words Entertainment for Men written on top. You shook your head, feeling small as you confessed it for the first time. 

“Any man?” 

“N-no,” you managed to breathe out, whimpering at the way the bulge beneath his jeans twitched at your simple answer. He took a step to position himself behind you, letting you lean your back against his chest. The angle at which he touched your pussy changed, opening your world up to a wonderful new kind of pleasure. 

“A virgin. Pretty young things like you ain’t for men like me,” he whispered in your neck, making you shiver. His thumb roamed between your legs as far as they could reach, caressed you gently, his softness with you contradicting his warning about men like him. The hand around your neck slithered down your torso, cold air forcing you to face your new desire of having your breath kept hostage. 

He took your left breast in hand, squeezing the flesh like someone starved would hold on to a piece of bread. It felt more like a punctuation to the warning he issued than a part of sex. Just then, his thumb between your legs stopped its search, stopping a little above the fingers inside you.

A moan you didn’t recognize as yours at first filled the room and you buckled forward. Blunt nails sunk into the flesh of your breast as he saved you before you could fall. He hauled you back up, making you collide against his chest. 

You gasped and quickly grabbed the hand between your legs, the sensation too intense for you to know what to do with. His thumb kept on, rolling over something there that set your person on fire. 

“Fuuuck! Joel– I– I– hnnng–”

“I know, sweetheart,” he crooned, keeping at whatever the hell he was doing to make you feel this way. 

“Please… I don’t– what was that?” 

You felt his chest rumble before you heard his laughter. Heat rose to your face and your throat felt strained though there was no hand around it anymore. 

“Never touched your clit? Do you even know what that is?” He mocked, the cruelty somehow not repelling you from him. He forced you to look up at him. Your heart lurched at how close you were to his face. You could see every gray hair, every minute blemish and line.

“Don’t know your own fucking body but you want a man? You don’t know what you’re handing me on a silver platter. I ain’t like the other guys in town. I walked across the fucking country and lemme tell ya, there’s no pretty things like you out there. I’m starved.” 

“Take me, then,” you begged, using his own words from earlier. “Please. Whatever you– a-aaah!” 

He ramped up the pressure on that spot– your clit– and with it, took your ability to speak coherently. It was as though he’d done it on purpose. You hated it. To be so bereft of control. To be a puppet in someone’s hand. For someone to acquaint themselves with parts of you that you didn’t know of. But it was too much to fight, so you let go. Let him play with you. Take you. Like a thing.

You renounced control of your lips too, his name slipping out effortlessly like it did when he caught you. Then you renounced what was left of your dignity and began begging relentlessly. For what, you didn’t know. In his hand, you’d gone from woman to pupper, your strings pulled by a man, your voice now his. Sounds that would be indiscernible from that of a wounded animal emanated from somewhere deep within you. 

Perhaps none of this was real. Why else did your own voice grow so distant from you? Why did your vision become blurry? Your thighs shook uncontrollably and your heart felt like it was beating out of your chest. Your eyes clenched shut, depriving you of your blurred vision. Your toes curled. You wanted to shrink into yourself, shrink away from all this goodness. You went higher and higher, soaring like a bird. Every nerve ending in your body felt electrified, awoken like one switch turned on every light on last winter’s Christmas tree. 

You let out a loud cry, the soaring bird in you reaching its peak before beginning its fall to the ground. You could hear your breaths again, labored but doing everything to stabilize itself. Your thighs still shook. Your chest rose and fell. A hand caressed your hand. Behind you, something strong supported your back. Kept you from falling backward. 

���Joel…” 

“I know, I know…” he whispered into your head. You opened your eyes and looked up at him, surprised to see a softer visage. He picked you up off the chair like you’d seen him lift giant logs before. With ease. You didn’t protest as he carried you. Didn’t protest when he laid you out on your bed. 

He bent down and picked something up. No questions, no instructions. He simply spread your leg away from the other. Cold air touched the gushing mess dripping out of you and you shivered, feeling a sudden need to cover yourself but unable to defy him. His hand was on your pussy again. His hardened, calloused fingers behind a soft fabric this time. He wiped upwards, collecting the mess he made out of you. When he lifted the fabric up, you realized it was your panties. 

He tucked it into the pocket of his jeans and then looked back at your face, the intensity of his gaze making you want to run. Problem was your weak legs wouldn’t take you anywhere. You didn’t screw your eyes shut. You didn’t pull your blanket to conceal yourself. You looked back at him, defiant. Like you were trying to prove something. I can handle a man like you. 

“Be a good girl from now.” 

That and a condescending pat on your pussy and he was gone.

⌘

Part 2

[hypnoneghoul]

Symbol on the Surface Chapter 2

WC: 1,3k

Relationship: SwissAlps

Tags: Transmasc Swiss, Early Pregnancy Symptoms, Fluff, Vomiting (Morning Sickness), Baby Dream, Bathing

It’s all so tiring, so annoying, Swiss finds himself simply exhausted and angry. He’s really fucking angry, he realizes.

Notes: Tysm to @jimothybarnes for beta reading :3

Chapter 1 here or on AO3.

Read chapter 2 under the cut or on AO3.

Swiss wakes up with a start, shooting up in bed.

He hears crying.

He looks around, but at first glance it seems like he’s alone. Mountain’s not there, so who would…

Swiss pauses and squints into the darkness.

The baby.

He stumbles out of the nest, nearly falling face first into the floor as his legs catch in the comforter, and runs up to the cradle, just three steps away from the bed. When his eyes land on the tiny little kit wiggling inside, there’s nothing but instinct guiding him.

Swiss bends over and picks them up with all the gentleness in the world—they stop crying the moment they register the warmth of his touch. He brings them to his chest and holds the back of their head, keeping them close and safe. He sighs, rubbing a thumb of his big hand up and down the kit’s small back.

They are so tiny.

“There we go, yeah,” the multi ghoul mumbles with no real purpose as he walks back to the bed and sits on the edge. He pulls up a soft little blanket with stars all over it and swaddles up the kit in his arms before crawling further into the nest and settling against the headboard. The kit ends up on Swiss’ chest again, right above his heart.

He places a hand on the kit’s back in a protective and grounding way and closes his eyes, intending to go back to sleep. He kicks up a gentle purr, too, and he finds himself getting really emotional when the little bundle falling asleep on top of him joins with their own purr.

For a moment it’s just them in the darkness and the world is just peace.

But then Swiss hears…sniffing. Right under his ear and it’s getting louder and more intense by a second and–

“Mhmpf…Mounty?” he slurs. Where did Mountain come from?

Swiss turns his head towards the sound and suddenly he realizes he’s in their bunk on the tour bus. But wasn’t he just…

He comes to a little more and realizes it must have been a dream. An insanely vivid one, but just a dream.

The sniffing doesn’t cease, though—that’s real. Mountain is smelling and scenting him aggressively, making his still not fully awake mate laugh.

“What’r you doin’, sweetheart?” he asks.

“Sorry, I just–you just smell so sweet recently,” the earth ghoul breathes out between the near comical sniffs, “I can’t–can’t help myself.”

“Do I, now?” Swiss giggles and leans his head even further back to bare his neck more.

“Uh-huh,” Mountain pants and only now does his mate notice how hard his tail is wagging; pure happiness. His chest warms at the sight.

Swiss wraps his arms around the earth ghoul—as much as possible, at least—and begins to purr. It brings him back to the dream and the details are already escaping his brain, as they tend to do, but the main event is still clear.

Has he really been panicking about all that so hard lately that his mind decided to play tricks on him, too? Cruel, if you ask him.

The multi ghoul shakes his head, though, as if the gesture can rid him of all the worries. At least he didn’t have to run to the bathroom after waking up this time; he has no idea what time it is. What day, or even what year, either.

Swiss lets Mountain sniff and scent him freely as he closes his eyes and tries to focus on the comfort of his mate’s touch and not sour his—apparently—sweet scent with a tinge of worry; he doesn’t want to ruin the moment.

He falls back asleep with a purring puddle of an earth ghoul sprawled on top of him, and despite all the recent anxiety, Swiss couldn’t be happier in that moment.

This tour leg felt particularly and awfully long to Swiss, but finally—two months since they headed out for it—they are back home for an indefinite amount of time. Free time.

He can’t wait to spend days doing absolutely nothing; rotting in bed with Mountain and getting up only when absolutely necessary.

They had an overnight flight which got them back at the Abbey around midday. Everyone’s exhausted, but it’s a good thing it is the middle of the day—that way they all have more willpower to do the things that need doing before they disappear for weeks. It’ll all be done by the time it gets dark and then everyone is going to get the best sleep of their lives.

It’s always like this.

Swiss is half-dead by the time he falls back into Mountain’s arms at the end of the day.

“I know, my heart,” the earth ghoul chuckles, “but I promise you, you’ll thank me for making you take a bath.”

“Ugh,” Swiss grunts, but lets himself be pulled into their bathroom. He zones out for a bit and only snaps back into reality when he’s sinking into the hot water. The multi ghoul sighs blissfully and inhales the herbal scent of the steam—no doubt caused by some magical stuff that came from under Mountain’s own hands. Said ghoul joins him and invites Swiss to lay back against his chest in the huge tub.

Swiss hasn’t felt as relaxed in what feels like forever.

He can’t see Mountain’s equally tired, but happy smile; he missed being like this together terribly, too. They’d spend ages in that bathtub if not for the exhaustion pulling on both their eyelids. Instead, they take ages to wash each other—worshiping every single inch of skin passing under their hands and letting as worshipful words spill from their mouths as they go. By the time they’re done they’re both soft and warm purring messes.

Swiss and Mountain drag each other to bed—neither trusting their own legs anymore—and finally, they fall back into their soft nest. It feels even more comfortable than usual because of how long it’s been since they slept in it. They can barely hold out for long enough to cuddle up together and get cozy before they inevitably fall asleep.

It’s easily one of the best sleeps they’ve both gotten.

Ever.

Swiss’ bladder decides to wake him up criminally early, though. He knows he’s going to go right back to sleeping soundly after he takes a piss, but then he realizes.

He’s feeling…okay.

For a moment—just a moment—when Swiss wakes up, he’s feeling okay, he’s feeling fine. 

It turns out to be a very short moment.

He feels an incoming wave of nausea and untangles himself from the sheets and Mountain’s arms as soon as possible to run to the bathroom. Despite all the damage he does to his knees on tour, hitting them on the tile by the toilet hurts more—in a different way.

Swiss is fucking furious.

It’s all so tiring, so annoying, he finds himself simply exhausted and angry. He’s really fucking angry, he realizes. He doesn’t wait to see if he’s really finished before he gets himself up and storms out of the bathroom and bedroom, leaving his unsuspecting mate sound asleep in their nest.

It’s too much; has been going on for too long. Swiss can’t take it any more, the mental and physical anguish is making him lose his damn mind and he’s doing something about it, right now.

Taglist: @arkeusruin @skele-bunny @everybodyshusband @ratsummer @jazz-bazz @mac-and-thefox @karmicbias @wine-irytatus

[mugloversonly]

What Happens Afterwards?

I read this post by @acowardinmordor and was obsessed with what happened next. Written with their blessing.

also on AO3

tw: overdose, drugs, near death experience, mentions of HIV

Summary:

Famous Eddie doesn't touch drugs...too bad Steve does After Steve ODs at a Corroded Coffin concert, he wakes up in the hospital.

Steve woke up groggy and confused. Is he in a hospital? Suddenly the night rushed back to him. He did a line, borrowed a needle. He’d meant to go back to the dressing room, but he hit the deck before he could. Shit!

He shot up and frantically looked around, hoping beyond all hope that he was alone. Luck was not on his side though, because Eddie was asleep in the hospital chair next to him. Steve took a long look at the love of his life. His eyes were red and puffy with deep bags. His hair was a tangled mess as if he’d been yanking on it. And his clothes were rumpled as if he hadn’t changed them in days.

Steve sighed. He really didn’t want to have this confrontation right now. Before that thought could even leave his brain, Eddie opened his eyes and met Steve’s. The pools of chocolate were filled with a myriad of emotions. He leaned forward and took Steve’s hand.

“Hey, Stevie. How’re you feeling?” He asked softly as he reached over and pressed the nurse call button. Steve was confused by the softness, but he wasn’t going to complain.

“How did I get here?” He asked instead, dropping his gaze.

“You were brought in as a John Doe after the concert baby.” He whispered, his voice thick. “They said you overdosed.” He didn’t sound angry, Steve would have preferred that. Instead he sounded guilty. Steve forced himself to look and felt bile rise up at the expression on Eddie’s face. “I’m sorry baby.” Eddie said. “I’m so sorry.” Tears ran down his already tear coated cheeks. Steve expected yelling, berating, and ultimatum. Anything but an apology.

“Sorry for what, Eds?” He asked. “You didn’t do anything.” That turned out to be the wrong thing to say as it turns Eddie’s cries into sobs. Something sour built a home in Steve’s chest.

“Exactly! I didn’t do anything!” He said emphatically, gesturing wildly. “You were missing! And i didn’t do anything! I let everyone else handle it while i panicked. I still played the show. I didn’t follow my gut and looked who the junkies were that night!” Tears streamed down his face, but the words rattled something in him.

“How long have I been here?” Steve asked hesitantly. Eddie took a stuttered breath.

“Five days. You’ve been here for five days. You were missing for over 24 hours.” He bit his lip trying to stifle more tears.

Steve was floored. Five days?! Wait…missing? “Oh, baby.” Steve said, mournfully running the hand not hooked up to anything along Eddie’s cheek. He melted into the contact and put his hand over Steve’s. “I’m sorry for putting this much stress on you.”

“For a minute there, I’d thought it came back.” Steve knew exactly what Eddie meant. The upside down. “But when I found out you ODed…I almost wish it had.” Eddie admitted. “This is all my fault.” He whispered unable to hold the tears back any longer.

Steve felt like he’d been on top of the world from what he could remember of the high, and he thought about chasing that rabbit. But the look in Eddie’s eyes, the deep well of pure devastation and guilt swirled together, made Steve pause. He couldn’t do this to Eddie again. “This isn’t on you.” Steve insisted. “I told you I quit. You had no reason to assume I’d be in that bathroom.” Eddie just shook his head.

“If I hadn’t forced you on the road, you never would’ve had access to this kind of hardcore shit in the first place. If I spent more time with you, if I never left you alone, you wouldn’t have felt the need to do this.” Eddie trembled. “I should have protected you better, I knew what that shit could do, I’m so sorry baby.” Steve knew then that there wasn’t anything he could say. Eddie would blame himself for this until the end of time.

That more than anything else, broke Steve down. “I’m sorry, love.” His voice trembled. “I shouldn’t have lied. I just didn’t want you to worry.” He flipped his hand up in offer. Eddie immediately filled it with his. He squeezed it as he continued. “You had so much to worry about, I didn’t want to be another. But I should have known that you’d worry anyway.” Steve looked away, ashamed.

“Baby…” he was cut off as a doctor came in.

“Well, Mr. Harrington. You’re lucky to be alive. The cocktail of drugs you took was extreme.” The doctor said.

“What do you mean?” Eddie asked.

“The heroine appeared to be laced with meth. And the line he did was cocaine and ecstasy.” The doctor said calmly. Eddie gasped a shuddering breath and his hands shook in Steve’s grasp.

“I didn’t know the heroine was laced.” He said. “It wasn’t my needle.” The regret was finally showing up. At this the doctor’s eyebrows rose to his hairline. Eddie yanked his hands away and covered his mouth.

“I’ll send in a nurse to grab some blood so we can run some tests.” He said. “In the meantime Mr. Munson, I recommend limited physical contact.” He directed that to Eddie with a look of sympathy. He nodded and the doctor took his leave. Tears sprang to Eddie’s eyes and ran down his face.

“You shared needles, Stevie?” He asked in shock, his voice quiet. His fear was clear on his face. “Have you been…doing other things for the drugs?” Steve had to come clean.

“I’d do pretty much anything for them.” He admitted.

Eddie stood up quickly and made to leave the room. “I’m going to go let Robin know you’re awake.” He dashed out before Steve could say anything else.

He fucked up. He always felt guilty after the high wore off, but this time it was horrible. He’s in the hospital, after disappearing for over a day. He should have been more careful. He knew sharing needles wasn’t the best plan, but at the time the high was worth it. But the look of betrayal, sadness, and the tiniest glimmer of disgust on Eddie’s face just now, was enough to make him never want to touch another pill. Sleep snuck up on him and he prayed that Eddie would be back when he woke up again.

His prayer went unanswered. The next time he woke up, it was Robin by his bedside. She was staring at the TV but she wasn’t really watching it. “Hey Robs” he said. She whipped her head around so fast he wouldn’t be surprised if it popped off.

“Steve! You’re awake!” She exclaimed. The smile on her face fell quickly. “You’re an idiot. If you weren’t in this hospital bed right now, I’d smack you.” He shrunk down in the face of her ire. “What were you thinking?!” She shrieked.

“I didn’t think it’d be that bad.” He admitted. The fire in her eyes could set the arctic ablaze.

“Not that bad? Not that bad?! You ODed at Eddie’s concert.” She began counting on her fingers. “You lied about being clean. You shared needles with some random junkies!” On the last point she threw her hands up. “How often have you done that? Don’t lie to me Steve.” Her eyes narrowed.

“Every once in a while when I get the itch for it. Maybe once every few months or so.” He admitted grimly. Robin’s eyes narrowed.

“So however many months you’ve been doing this, you’ve been sharing needles?” She clarified. At Steve’s nod she sprang up and paced the room. “Every time?”

“Not every time, but not rarely either.” He said as guilt started to creep into his stomach. She ran her hands into her hair and yanked on it softly.

“Have you been getting tested at least?” She asked.

“I’m not cheating on Eddie, Robin!” Steve yelled, hurt that she’d even imply that. She stopped pacing and turned to him.

“Okay, first. I didn’t say that. Second, your word has no credibility right now. I know you wouldn’t, dingus. That’s not why I was asking.” She grabbed his hand. Before she could continue, a nurse came in.

“Oh good! You’re awake. I’m going to be taking some blood okay?” She asked but really was demanding. She glared at Steve as he held out his arm for her.

“Is everything okay?” Robin asked. The nurse turned to her and gave a small smile before glaring again at Steve.

“With the patient, everything is looking like it’s returning to normal.” She snapped the tourniquet into place but when Steve flinched she didn’t look remorseful. She drew a few vials of blood, stuck a bandaid on, and pulled off the tourniquet all in silence. As she got cleaned up to leave, she finally spoke. “Look kid, it’s not my place. But that boy out there? I can take a guess as to what your relationship is with him.” She flashed a tiny pride flag pinned inside her scrubs. “He cares about you so much. He was beside himself when he came in and saw you, he had you moved to this room, he asked us if there was any kind of experimental treatment, anything to help you.” She turned that glare on him again. “He loves you to the ends of the earth and he will never leave you. You better clean up your act to be worthy of that devotion, because make no mistake. He would let you drain his veins and apologize for not bleeding out faster.” She stalked over to Robin and handed her a stack of papers. She jabbed a finger in his face, “don’t you dare break up with him in a misguided attempt to save him from you. You clean up your act. If not for yourself, then for him.“ With that she stomped out of the room and practically slammed the door behind her. For a moment neither of them said a word. Steve was filled with regret and Robin was a bit smug. She looked down at the stack of papers. Rehab clinics.

“Should we pick one?” Robin asked.

“I think I want to do it with Eddie.” Steve replied. “The nurse was right. And so were you. I’ve taken him for granted and my word means shit right now. I want to prove to him that I want to get clean.” Robin hesitated.

“Do you?” She asked. “You don’t seem particularly regretful about the actual drugs.” Her tone was soft even though her words were harsh.

“I do!” Steve exclaimed. “You didn’t see the look on Eddie’s face, Robbie. He was devastated and blamed himself for all of it. When I told him I’d do anything for the drugs he got up and left. I don’t think he’s coming back in.” He trailed off into a whisper. Robin took hold of his hand.

“Stevie, he’s right outside.” She said. At Steve’s confused look she continued. “He’s sitting on a bench right next to the door. He wanted to come back in, but I asked him to let me talk to you alone.”

“Why?” Steve asked. Robin’s eyes hardened.

“Because what I’m about to say, he wouldn’t like, but as your best friend I have to tell you hard truths. And Eddie's my best friend too so I have to protect him.” She took a deep breath. “You deserved his love once Steve. I truly believe that. But right now, his love for you is hurting him. And the only one who can fix it? Is you. He hasn’t slept or eaten practically at all since you disappeared.” Steve flinched at the word disappeared. “When he called me he was sobbing so hard I thought you died Steve.” Her eyes watered. “He kept repeating ‘it’s all my fault. I did this to him’ and Jeff had to take the phone to explain what was going on. When I got here, you were still touch and go. You died on the way here, Steve. They had to resuscitate you. The sound he made when the doctors told him that…” she shuddered. “I felt his heart shatter. The nurse is right. He will forgive you and he won’t ever stop loving you and he won’t ever leave you.” Her eyes got intense again. “So you need to promise me. Promise me! That you’ll take care of yourself. Because I don’t think I could survive watching him wither away if you leave him.” The emphasis she put on leave tore Steve apart. She didn’t mean break up with him. She meant leave him. “You don’t deserve his devotion. Not after you lied to him for months. But you have it. So now, you need to cherish it. Got it?” She asked. Steve could only nod as the dam finally broke. They held each other’s hands as they cried together.

~~~

“Can you get Eddie? Please.” He asked after his eyes dried up. Robin nodded and dashed out the door, waving Eddie inside.

Steve’s heart broke at the sight of him. He looked exhausted and his eyes were red rimmed as if he’d been crying for hours. Steve held a hand out to him and Eddie rushed to take it. Steve slid over in the hospital bed, yanking Eddie in after him. He curled around him and held him close being mindful of the wires in his hand as he draped it on Eddie’s chest. Eddie took a deep breath but Steve could feel the anxiety still thrumming under his skin. “I’m sorry, love.” Steve whispered. “I shouldn’t have lied.” He halted when he heard the sniffles. He sat up, peering at Eddie. His cheeks were wet again and Steve reached up to wipe them clean.

“Stevie, I have to ask…” he began. “And I hate to even think it. But…” he paused. “Did you…when you said you’d do anything for the drugs. Did you sleep with people for them?” He finally spit out. Steve wanted to be mad. He wanted to hiss and spit and rage at the accusation. But he knew that wasn’t fair to Eddie. He was within his rights to ask.

“No my love.” Steve promised. “Never.” Eddie nodded and sighed with relief. “I don’t know how much my word is worth right now.” He admitted. Eddie pressed a finger to his lips.

“I trust you.” He said. Those three words broke Steve. How could Eddie trust his word after everything? He asked him as much. Eddie just smiled softly. “I trust you because I want to. That’s all there is to it.”

“I’m sorry for everything.” Steve repeated desperately.

“I forgive you.” Eddie promised. “Now, let’s forget the past for a minute and focus on the future.” Eddie said. Steve looked over his shoulder to the door to the room and saw Robin and the Coffin boys. The boys were glaring at Steve but he knew it was because he hurt their friend.

Steve grabbed the rehab brochures and the two went over them until they found one that had a branch in DC. “I don’t want you to cancel the tour Eddie.” Steve was adamant. He ruined enough of the tour so far and he wouldn’t be the reason it ended. At least in DC he’d be close to Robin who would keep him in line. She promised Eddie daily updates (real updates) once Steve got out until the end of the tour. Eddie finally agreed after the boys convinced him he’d need the distraction so he wouldn’t be pacing around the house all day.

Steve leaned up to kiss him, but Eddie pulled away. The regret in his eyes was almost enough to soothe the hurt. “Not yet Stevie, okay?” He asked. Steve nodded but his head tilted in confusion. “Not until the blood tests come back.” He explained. Suddenly, Steve understood. He put himself at risk and Eddie too. The virus going around was deadly and Steve had been careless. Playing russian roulette with not only his life, but Eddie’s too and by extension the band’s.

The shame that filled him was so intense he reached over and retched into the nearby bed pan. Robin ran over with a trashcan and he kept heaving. Eddie rubbed his back as he emptied his body. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I…” he cut off by dry heaving. He finally understood why Eddie ran from the room earlier and why the nurse glared at him. He’s a monster. He put the love of his life at risk of contracting a deadly disease just so he could get a fix. What the hell was wrong with him?

When he was finally done, he was exhausted. “Sleep baby.” Eddie whispered. Steve clutched tight to his hand.

“Will you stay with me?” He asked. As his eyes drifted shut.

“Forever.” Eddie whispered as Steve floated off into a dreamless sleep. His last thought was that he needed to prove he was worth forever.

~~~

The next time he woke up, Eddie was still there. Asleep curled up beside him. But in the chair next to him was someone he hoped not to see. Wayne. Their eyes met and he didn’t say anything, he just raised his right eyebrow and Steve folded. He apologized for letting Wayne down, for hurting Eddie, for lying about it. He begged Wayne’s forgiveness, but the man didn’t respond. His gaze flickered to his sleeping nephew and softened.

“You listen to me boy.” Wayne said. “My nephew is a gentle soul, quick to forgive and let things go. You should know that based on how he was after that spring break.” They both shivered at the memory. “So, he’s not going to want to hold you accountable. He’d rather just move on and take your word for it. But lucky for him, and not so lucky for you, I will be holding you accountable.” He leaned in. “I love you like one of my own Steve, I really do. But I love my brother too and he ain’t seen Eddie since they locked him up. Eddie forgave him within days, trusted him. I learned then, that if Eddie loved someone, he’d forgive pretty much everything just to keep them around. So I’ll tell you the same thing I told Al. Eddie is my boy, first. And I will protect him from anything that will hurt him, even if it’s himself. So I’ll be holding you accountable. You’re going to rehab?” Wayne asked. At Steve’s nod and explanation of where, he continued. “You’re going to give the rehab my information as someone who they can talk to. I’m going to call to check up whenever I see fit. Got it?”

“Yes sir” Steve replied. The nurse from before knocked and opened the door quietly. She paused as she saw Eddie curled up in the bed next to Steve. She gently shook him awake.

“Mr. Munson? We have both of your blood tests back.” At this Eddie was wide awake.

“You got some blood tests done Ed?” Wayne asked.

“Yeah, just um…just in case you know?” He trailed off not making eye contact with his uncle.

“Good news or bad news first?” She asked.

“Bad news first, always.” Eddie and Steve replied in tandem. They shared a private smile.

“Bad news, Steve you have moderate kidney damage. It won’t take much more to send them into failure.” She said with hard eyes.

“And the good news?” Wayne spoke up.

“Good news, you both are negative for any STDs. Including HIV.” The three men breathed a huge sigh of relief. The nurse turned to Steve. “You got lucky kid. Don’t forget that.” Steve assured her he wouldn’t and she left with a nod. He couldn’t believe he’d been so reckless. He turned to Eddie and was immediately pulled into a soft kiss.

~~~

“They said you’ll be discharged soon.” Robin said later. “Then what?” It was just the two of them.

“Then, Eddie drops me off at rehab and I get help. I stay clean. I do everything to be worthy of him.” He declared. Robin nodded her approval. Eddie came back from the hotel with all of their things packed away in a rental car. He slid into bed next to Steve.

“Hey, baby. You ready?” He asked. Steve nodded and they all left the hospital. The three of them piled into the car and drove Robin to the airport. She was going to fly back to give the boys some time alone. She hugged Steve and then Eddie. She whispered something in the his ear that had him tearing up. She went into the airport with a promise to call Wayne if she ran into any trouble.

Then it was just the two of them. They spent the first hour or so making idle small talk before the curiosity got the best of him. “What did Robin say to you?” He asked.

“Nothing important.” Eddie answered far too quickly.

“Oh, come on. You can tell me.” He knew he was being annoying but he didn’t want to think about what was awaiting him at the end of the ride. Eddie sighed, he never could keep something from Steve.

“She said if I could forgive you, I should forgive myself.” He admitted.

“You still blame yourself, love?” Steve asked. Eddie bit his lip as he nodded.

“If I hadn’t dragged you on tour, you never would have found that stuff.” Steve couldn’t let this stand. He knew he had to finally come clean.

“I was already doing it.” At Eddie’s questioning noise he continued. “As soon as we got to LA, I was looking for it. I did it at those events because it was free from someone else's supply.” He took a breath and glanced at Eddie before he admitted the next bit. “I didn’t get into this shit because I was on tour with you. I wanted to go on tour because I didn’t want to be away from you. That it would be way easier to get my hands on shit, just sweetened the deal.”

Eddie was quiet for a while after that. Steve glanced over and saw his cheeks were wet. He’d made him cry again. “So, you didn’t start them because of me?” He whispered.

“No love. And to be clear, even if I started on tour, it still wouldn’t have been your fault. You didn’t hold me down and force a line up my nose okay?” He reached out and wiped away a tear. “This was my choice. Just like going to rehab is my choice. If I didn’t really want to go, I wouldn’t.” His conviction was clear. Eddie pulled to the side of the road to kiss Steve softly before they drove the rest of the way in comfortable conversation.

They arrived at the rehab center and Eddie walked him inside. He checked in, Eddie handed over his credit card, Steve handed it right back and handed his over. The attendant smiled and swiped Steve’s card giving the boys a moment alone. They held each other close and kissed not caring at the moment who saw them. “I love you, baby. Don't forget okay?” Eddie whispered leaning his forehead to Steve’s.

“I know, love. I love you too. More than life.” He replied. He gave a final kiss to Eddie’s lips and followed the attendant into the center. He was determined to come out a new man.

~~~

Six grueling weeks later, Steve was out. He had a sponsor and group therapy sessions. Waiting to pick him up was Robin. Eddie was on the last few weeks of the tour. They had to extend it a bit to cover for Steve’s hospital stay. Robin gave him a long hug. “Ready to bust out?” She asked and they both got into the car. He lasted barely five minutes.

“How is he?” Steve and Eddie didn’t speak at all during his rehab. The center thought Eddie being on the road would be triggering to Steve. And to be frank, Wayne thought Eddie needed to distance himself from the process for a bit. Wayne and Robin had kept them both informed on the other.

“He’s okay. I mean…he misses you terribly, but he’s been coping on tour.” Robin said. Thankfully the drive wasn’t very long. Steve wanted to be in a familiar place, even if life outside of rehab was scary. They pulled up to Robin’s building and Steve stepped in after her.

There was a loud pop and confetti raining down on him. “Welcome home Steve!” Came several voices he was not expecting. The entire party was here. Wayne, Hopper, and Joyce too. But what brought him to tears was the sight to his left. Eddie was there, holding his arms open. Steve ran into them, nearly knocking them both to the ground.

“I thought your tour didn’t end for a few more weeks?” He asked in between kisses.

“I lied about the end date to surprise you.” He admitted holding Steve close. “Are you surprised?”

“Very! A good surprised!” The two pulled apart so everyone else could greet Steve. Eddie didn’t go far, not letting go of Steve’s hand the entire time. He’d felt better in rehab once the withdrawals subsided. More clear headed, more aware. But he didn’t feel completely healed. Feeling the warmth of Eddie’s hand in his, Steve felt hopeful for the future. As he made eye contact with the man again, Steve silently promised to stay clean. Not for just Eddie. But for himself too.

~~~

He skipped the next tour as recommended by his therapist. The two men decided it would be better if he wasn't alone, so Wayne stayed with him. He'd been retired from the plant and wanted to move out to LA with Eddie anyway.

He and Eddie had a hard time, but they make due with calls and letters. On one memorable occasion Steve sent a racy Polaroid. That night, Eddie called already worked up and they had a wonderful time. The reunion was so sweet. They were locked in their bedroom for days, coming out only for food and water. The rest of their friends knew better than to come visit until the love birds made the first move.

The band wrote a new album and started a nonprofit for drug addicts. It helped those who couldn't afford to get clean and see therapists, providing them with clean needles and clean drugs to help ween off them. Steve didn't shy away from his overdose, or the affect it had on those around him and he encouraged the others not to either. Eddie did several interviews on how helpless he felt when his "best friend" was taken to the hospital as a John Doe. This spurred the nonprofit to add resources for loved ones of addicts too.

Steve had been sober for three years when he went on tour with the band again. For real this time. He got clean and he stayed clean. When he was offered something at a party, he couldn't say he wasn't tempted. But he'd look over to see his love laughing and knew he'd do anything to keep that sound in the world. He never wanted to jeopardize Eddie's happiness again and he finally accepted he was his happiness.

And the next time the band played The Garden, Steve was on the sidelines cheering for Eddie and the band. He made sure Eddie could always see him and know he was safe. That look of guilt and devastation he saw in the hospital never returned to Eddie's face and Steve was determined to keep it that way.

[earthtooz]

earth... i saw that anon abt rin x afterglow but hear me out... reo x sweet nothings........... WE'RE SO NORMAL ABT HIM

x : SWEET NOTHING :*+ﾟ i find myself running home to your sweet nothings.

in which: reo doesn't think he has many loveable traits. you show him otherwise.

warnings: domesticity fluff, 2k words, gn!reader, mentions of insecurity and food, pet names for the reader, there's a little angst but this is comfort, semi-unedited, semi-coherent writing sorry y'all it gets worse LMFAOOOOOOOO yolo.

a/n: this is 2k words of me purely loving reo. reo if you're reading this... hmu baby... WE ARE SO NORMAL ABOUT HIM. HERE. 2K WORDS THAT I WROTE ON A TOTAL WHIM THAT I DROPPED ALL MY DRAFTS AS SOON AS I SAW A REO ASK. this is the fastest ask i've ever whipped out. thanks for requesting :>

reo doesn’t think he has many lovable traits.

sure he’s popular, well-liked, whatever, and as much as he’s aware of how large his social circle is, reo can’t help but wonder if all of it is… just for show. that if the people around him know nothing of genuinity and dance towards him in exquisite gowns made of money, refined manners, and masks carved in ‘円’ symbols with expectations of expensive favours and luxury. 

it sickens reo a little when he thinks about it. on his worse days, he thinks that it’s all he’s worth: money upon money upon money.

is there anything else he has to offer? 

he returns home squeezed dry, mind racing with questions and he finds himself sinking under. everyone is up to something, everyone wants everything from him. he wonders when he’ll be able to take some of it back. 

the smell of steak cuts through his thoughts, filling his nose immediately as the athlete steps foot into his apartment. reo hadn’t registered how hungry he was until now, not having had anything to eat since lunch since he thought he’d have dinner but he left before it could even be served. got too fed up of the company to stick around.

since when did he become so… picky about his company?

walking into his property, he’s greeted with the sight of you dashing around his kitchen, plating multiple things at once whilst a pan sizzled atop the stovetop. it was his favourite; ichibo steak. reo’s stomach rumbles just thinking about it.

(he has an answer to his question: since you came into his life, showing him what it was like to be loved with the same fervour that he loves the rest of the world.)

“oh my-” you abruptly say, frozen when you notice the figure in the hallway, relaxing when you register that it was just your boyfriend who hadn’t the effort to make himself known. “reo, welcome home.”

he walks over to you with a small smile ghosting his lips. “hi love,” he greets, the two of you meeting halfway in a comforting embrace, one that reo melts right into. you press your face into the cold fabric of his suit, chilled by the cold weather outside. the smell of his cologne lingers. “what a pleasant surprise.”

you part, both wearing a lovestruck grin. “i hope it’s okay, you just texted me that you hadn’t had dinner and i thought it’d be nice if we eat together. sorry for dropping in without notice.”

he doesn’t know why you’re apologising. if he came home to this sight everyday he’d be over the moon.

hand cradling your cheek, he presses his nose against yours. “‘s more than okay,” he mutters before closing the gap in a gentle yet breathtaking kiss. his heart stutters back alive, pumping wildly when he feels you, so warmly, so comfortingly, so real, smile against him. 

“how was your high school reunion?” you ask, parting first. reo scrunches his face in distaste. partly at your question, mostly because he thought you pulled away too soon. 

he doesn’t want to think too hard about the bar he was at not too long ago, booked out specifically for said reunion to happen. doesn’t want to hink about the people crowding around him, asking about his career as an athlete and as the ceo of such a successful company. their praise leaves a sour mark in his heart. after two hours of the same questions, he had enough.

“left two hours in. should tell ya enough.”

“aww, sorry to hear that. hope you’ll feel better over dinner.”

“babe, i already feel amazing now that you’re here.”

you giggle at his shameless flattery before patting his shoulder, a subtle way of telling him to ‘knock it off’. “go get changed and relax. i need to cook the steak before it gets past how you like it.”

how he likes it.

reo is reluctant to go, making that known as he frowns whilst his hand squeezes your waist. you push him away with a gentle shove. “go.”

“okay,” he sighs.

after five or so minutes, reo emerges, dressed down into some comfortable pajamas. dinner is prepared now and you’d taken the time to prepare some juice as well- probably the one his dietician recommended for his athlete diet. he doesn’t like drinking it, you know that, and the only time he does is when you force him to (you promise to give him kisses in exchange and the drink is down in three seconds).

he stares at it in disdain. you, knowing him too well, reads his mind and began laughing, recalling all the inside jokes you have around this pesky little beverage. “c’mon, let’s eat,” you prompt and reo doesn’t even have to think twice before complying.

dinner is simple. it’s a really random assortment of dishes, you both have a bowl of udon, a plate of veggies to share, and there’s miso soup on the side. he appreciates the effort you put into getting all the nutrients he needs despite how demanding it can be. 

“thank you for the food.” 

reo digs in without hesitation, humming at the first taste of a warm meal after such a cold and unforgiving night. it warms him from the inside and suddenly, all misfortunes he’d experienced tonight become nothing but forgotten memories that’ll eventually be left to rot in the crevices of his mind, outshone by the sight of your smile and affectionate gaze.

“is it good?” you ask.

it’s amazing. incredible. the best food he’s ever had because of who it was made by. he doesn’t get to express that though so he just nods viciously, glancing over at your laughing form as he slurps his udon very ungraciously.

you don’t judge. you never judge.

“i’m glad, but please slow down.”

“sorry, i’m just really hungry,” reo confesses.

“i can see. you murmur, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. he keens at your touch, putting down his bowl to drag your chair closer, his thigh now pressed against yours. you chuckle a little at his actions, flustered by the small action.

this is love, reo thinks. you’re laughing together under the bright lights of his kitchen and this is the epitome of love.

he’s home. he’s welcomed. he’s safe. he’s him. he’s loved.

dinner goes by uneventfully, save for when you needed to feed the purple-haired the juice in order for him to drink it, causing you to mock his face of disgust and reo kissing you to shut you up. after a while of talking over empty plates of food, your legs have somehow ended up in his lap whilst he mindlessly draws on your thigh. a heart, his name with yours, and quick scribbles of ‘i love you’ over and over again. 

tonight was disruptful. his soul feels deconstructed, but with each passing second in your presence, he feels okay again. you strip him of his tiresome prestige and welcome him into the realm of normality, somewhere he has craved to be all his life. 

you kiss his scars and leave promises on them, loving all the beautiful and ugly parts of him, parts that he had never let anyone see before you.

the yawn that escapes you ends the conversation abruptly and you hum contemplatively, lulling your head back a little to emphasise your sudden wave of fatigue. 

“i should get going now, let’s wash u-”

“going where?” your boyfriend questions, grabbing your hand for the comfort of holding it and as a way of telling you that he doesn’t want you to leave.

“home?”

he tugs on your wrist. “don’t go. you’re not busy tomorrow, are you?”

“i’m not.”

“perfect. you should the night.” you should stay forever, he wants to say. one day he will; reo’ll muster the courage to ask you to move in.

in faux hesitation, you hum, raising a hand to his cheek as reo leans in to your touch. “you’ll miss me otherwise, huh? fine. i will.”

the smile he beams rivals that of a thousand suns. you wonder how you managed to be with someone as loving and adoring as reo who is willing to love you and all of your flaws. even after such a long time together, that look of awe never faded whenever he looked at you.

“i need to take a shower. care to join?” reo asks, smirking at you whilst standing up to his full height. despite the lilt in his tone, it’s devoid of any lust or ulterior motive, extending the invite to you for another chance to be close and intimate like lovers are- something he seemingly can’t get enough of.

you roll your eyes, playing off his suaveness. “you’re awful.”

“only for you.”

“i’m okay,” you reject his offer, trying not to give in to your temptations. 

reo is insatiable though. “c’mon, are you sure? would be such a lovely way to end the day though, can’t you grant me that?”

as selfless as reo may be, he loves taking in return. as a business man, it’d only make sense that he’d make use of return investments. “you’ll live.”

“please?”

“fine.”

the shower doesn’t take long. you two do your night routines beside each other, reo drying your hair for you whilst gently combing through it, brushing your teeth together, and finishing with skincare. he’s close to you the whole time, bumping his hip with yours gently as he litters kisses all over your face, causing you to swat him away sometimes with a bright laugh. 

it’s with a six-foot athlete clinging to your waist that you climb into bed, diving under the covers with little hesitation. reo takes the initiative of shifting himself to lie half-atop you, pressing into you with a relieved sigh as he feels your hands run up and down his back. 

he feels okay again, now healed and rejuvenated once more.

reo’s too soft. he lets people in when he really shouldn’t, gets to know people too quickly, too superficially, that he never sees to far into their person before moving on. he has left trials of faces in his mind with no true attachment to any of them, none that he would make the effort to hangout with. he has been an empty void his whole life, moulding himself into versions that other people want to see.

addendum. he had been an empty void his whole life. 

but now that you’re here, he has a constant to dive in. you scold him for changing too much of himself to become your perfect lover. he didn’t need to swap the roses he orders every week to freshen up his dining room to be that of your favourite colour, he didn’t need to swap the candles, shampoos, conditioners- anything else of the sort, to match your favourite scent. he didn’t need to always wear his hair up because you said you liked it that way.

no, because you love reo for reo, regardless of the ‘influences’ you had on him. you love him because he’s a great conversationalist, he’s organised, driven to a healthy degree, selfless, will always hype you up especially when insecurities become unforgiving, pulling you from the depths of your mind the same way you do with him. 

all you’ve ever wanted from him was sweet nothing. 

reo’ll run to you every time, no matter what. if it’s been a shitty day and he just needs to hide from the world or the best day of his life, he’ll always come to you to make it a little better.

the theory still proves true now as he nestles himself into your embrace, breathing you in with each inhale- letting his senses memorise all of you that he can, that you’ll allow.

“i love you,” is the last thing he murmurs before letting consciousness slip away, surrounded with nothing but bliss and love to pull him away. he’ll dream of you. he’s sure of it.

you and your sweet nothings that highlight every loveable trait of his.

(you'll kiss the 'bad' ones with the same amount of love too.)

[hyperfixationstation128]

The Burdens of The Father

Pairing: Gale x Tav though Tav doesn't make an appearance in the story.

Words: 1,091

TW: Non-explicit mentions of Gale's abuse at the hands of Mystra.

Summary: The joy of Gale's son showing off his newfound powers is quickly soured by memories of Gale's past. Now he must find a way to explain the price of magic to his dearest treasure.

Big shoutout to @bladesandbhaalspawn for inspiring me to write this with their additions to my silly lil post about how Gale would be terrified as a father to a magical son. Your story ROCKED!

They say that you never truly know the dangers of the world until you become a parent. That you’ll never be filled with more dread than when you first hold your baby in your arms. Gale had always thought to himself that he would never be fit to be a father. That he’d be too cruel, or too lenient, too something! Until the day came when he held his child in his arms. His son. He had never seen something so beautiful in his life. This pure, sweet child that had his bearings, who’s smile could brighten even the deepest of darkness, who’s laughter was enough to fill anyone’s heart with elation, this child was his greatest love.

“You will never want for anything… my son, my love. I will always be here for you.”

That was his vow that day. And he strived to live up to every word! His son never knew hunger, nor anger, nor the paralyzing claws of fear. Their home was one filled with love, with laughter and joy. It was hard not to love someone who looked at you like you hung the moon, like you painted the skies just for them. To a child, their parents are their first gods. And to a parent, their child is their greatest joy… and greatest source of fear.

Eight years had passed since the birth of his son Drystan; Eight years of blissful ignorance… Eight years of freedom. All since were dashed now as his beloved son came bounding into Gale’s library, his brown eyes aflame with excitement, his grin pulled so wide it made his cheeks puff.

“Father! Father!” He cried, his hands outstretched.

Gale instantly abandoned the assignments he was grading to turn to his son, hoisting him onto his lap and tousling his hair. “My, you’re in a delighted mood! What splendor has befallen you to warrant such a smile?” He poked Drystan’s cheeks lightly.

The boy scrambled from his father’s lap and stood before him, beaming with pride as he stretched out his hands. “I got a trick to show you!”

“You have a trick to show me.” He corrected, tapping his son’s nose.

Too excited to argue like he normally would, Drystan extended his arms before him. Gale assumed he had finally mastered the cartwheel he’d been practicing, or maybe he was going to put on another play he’d written, anything except what he was about to witness.

With a scrunched nose and tightly shut eyes, his son made a concentrated face, his small hands trembling slightly. A few beats of silence followed until in an instant, blue light flew from the boy’s fingertips, forming a near perfect sphere in his hands. With a grunt of effort, he threw his arms in the air, illuminating the entire office in azure light. Soft glitters of Weave sprinkled around them like pixie dust before fading completely.

Gale gaped in amazement at his son’s performance, his eyes wide and beginning to sting with proud tears. How incredible! How fantastic! Not even he had been able to conjure such control over his magic as a boy! He was a natural, a prodigy! Just… just like he had been when he was Drystan’s age. Just like he had been when Elminster came and proclaimed him one of the Chosen… Mystra’s chosen. Gale’s smile fell, his forehead wrinkling with a worried frown. Mystra… she had named him her chosen all those years ago. She had taken him by her side when he was his son’s age. She trained him, she guided him… she used him.

Fear gripped Gale’s heart and he looked to his son. His sweet, innocent boy, with his glittering eyes and tousled brown curls. He had no idea what this would mean for him. What future awaited him as his powers continued to grow. The thought of Mystra placing her godly hands upon his son was enough to make him sick. The memories of how he was made to believe he was worthless unless he used his magic, of how he’d grown so desperate for her approval that he nearly killed himself for her had soured what should have been a wonderful moment between father and son.

No. No, he wouldn’t let that happen! The goddess may have blessed Drystan with her gifts, but she would not have him! She would not taint this loving, naive boy with her sick games! She will never get to lay her hands on him and manipulate him with honeyed words and false promises. His son would never know the price of her shared knowledge. Not while Gale still drew breath!

Gale knelt down to Drystan’s level, firmly holding his small hands and giving him a stern look. “Listen to me, my son. You must never do that again. Do you understand? Never let anyone see you do that.”

Drystan frowned like a kicked puppy, puzzled by his father’s reaction. “Bu… but… You always told me magic was a gift! That magic was everything to you! Why aren’t you proud of me?” His brows knit together.

Gale stuttered, struggling to find the right words to use to make him understand the dangers this could bring. He didn’t get the chance to explain as Dyrystan yanked his hands back and stared back at him with wide, tearful eyes. The look his son gave him was enough to break Gale’s heart. He didn’t know better. And to know his son didn’t think his father was proud of him? Shame filled his heart as his eyes fell to the floor. He was no better than his own father.

With a hefty sigh, Gale reached for his son’s hands, holding them gentler this time. “I will always be proud of you. Never, never doubt that I treasure you exactly as you are.” Tears strangled his throat, his voice breaking. “You are the best gift I could have ever been blessed with - better than any amount of magic the gods could bestow! You’re my son… and I don’t know what I’d do if you were to be hurt.” He pressed a kiss to Drystan’s hands and pulled him into a tight hug.

“What do you mean?”

Another sight fell from his lips and he pulled away, pushing himself to his feet and walking towards the balcony. With a wave of his hand, the doors opened to reveal the nighttime scene outside, before turning back to his son and beckoning him to follow.

“Come… I have a story to share with you.”

[ghostandsoap]

Sweets and Suckers

John Price x Fem! “Peach” Reader

Tags: None.

A/N: I decided to write this series of fics in third person. I was afraid that this reader is too specific to be in second person...although this still is *technically* an insert reader fic. Feedback is always greatly appreciated. I would love to know your thoughts on this new “series.” I’ll be writing a whole separate fic for their first time meeting so keep an eye out! This is a tester fic. Just to introduce our reader and test the waters. Also, I have no idea if it’s canon to whether or not Ghost smokes. I have a headcanon that he smokes when he’s stressed. 

Word Count: 2.7k

“Know why? ‘Cause I have this little thing called patience.”

She wasn’t like anyone else that he had ever known.

She was the toughest, yet sweetest woman he had ever met. One minute she could be cursing out and beating the shit out of a blood thirsty, heartless terrorist…and the next she could be babying and gushing over Sergeant MacTavish because he got a papercut on his finger.

She had a way with words, but also a way with her fists. She could talk or fight her way out of anything, and Price had witnessed it himself on numerous occasions. She was fierce. She was a blaze of fire everywhere she went, tough as nails and overly aware of the darkness of the world around her.

And yet after all the evil that she had seen, she had a heart that was still as pure and bright as ever.

And he never expected to fall in love with her.

He was skeptical of her at first. Kate Laswell’s description of her didn’t make the most impressive image. 

Laswell’s descriptions painted a certain picture in Captain Price’s mind. A sweet, innocent female who didn’t know the reality of this job and this world. A soldier that had too much hope for humanity and too much zest for life that blinded her to what was true.

And when he learned what her call sign was, he nearly laughed in Laswell’s face.

“Peach?” Price scoffed, a little off put by such a girlish call sign. “Why do they call her that?”

Kate only smiled knowing that Price was already underestimating her without ever seeing her face or seeing her in action.

“She has thick skin and is sweet as can be…” Kate grinned. “Not to mention, she’s a true southern lady.”

Price fought the urge to roll his eyes, but he didn’t try to swallow down the dread that was bellowing up in his throat. 

Great. An American.

It took Price some time to change his mind. Even after meeting her for the first time, he wasn’t so sure that she was the right kind of person for his team. If he was going to work with her, he needed her to be disciplined. He couldn’t afford another soldier that was unpredictable in nature. He needed someone he could trust, someone who he could depend on no matter what.

And much to Price’s surprise, he wasn’t totally discouraged when he first met her. 

She didn’t look intimidating for the most part. She didn’t have the tall, broad stature like Simon Riley or the hard, cold stare like John MacTavish. She had a gentle look, a face that was lit up with a smile when the two of them locked eyes. On the surface, she didn’t look like the strict type…but there was something about her that Price could tell had a rough side to it.

She was easy on the eyes…very easy on the eyes. Price noticed that he had a hard time looking away from her. 

“Captain Price,” She greeted, and her southern drawl made his chest feel fuzzy. “I’m Sergeant [L/N]. But everybody calls me Peach.”

So I’ve heard. 

“Sergeant,” Price extended his hand, the warmth of her grip tingling up his arm. “Pleasure to meet you.”

And from there, the rest was history. 

Each and every day he saw more and more of her personality, and every day he found himself realizing how quick he had been to judge. He saw her sweet side and sour side. He saw how she adapted to every situation appropriately. She was intelligent, skilled, and always looking out for the people around her.

If anything, that was the thing that surprised him the most. She was selfless and would do anything for the people that she worked and spent the majority of her time with. She was everything he could’ve asked for when it came to working with someone.

Suddenly he was thinking about her when she wasn’t around. He wanted to talk to her about things that were more personal. His admiration turned into a romantic one, and he found himself wishing for a relationship that extended past professional.

The small talk turned into meaningful conversations. The passing glances turned into longing stares. The “accidental” touches turned into intentional ones. Before he knew it, he had grown to care for her. And before she knew it, she had grown to care for him.

That loud-mouthed, southern charm woman that had been thrown into his life was suddenly part of it so much more than he originally bargained for…but not that he was complaining. 

His team loved her, and she worked with them well. They were protective over her the same way she was protective over them. She took care of them when they needed it, but sometimes her bedside manner came off a little aggressive.

“Quit movin’ so much,” She growled, tightening her grip on the man’s leg. “I’m gonna beat your ass if you do that again.” 

“Wasn’t on purpose,” Ghost grumbled. “All of this because I was just trying to have a cigarette.” 

“And that’s another thing!” She howled. “You’ve gotta chill with the cigarettes. Since when do you smoke this much?” 

She was the best medic of the team. She had been trained by the best, and she was a natural caretaker. She was always quick to jump in when someone was hurt or sick. She never hesitated to fix someone up who (in her words) “needed fixin’”. 

When it was something unavoidable or something that was a purely freak accident, she was like an angel nurse. A sweet, comforting tone and gentle mannerisms that could soothe even the most panicked patient. But when it was something more…stupid, she tended to be a little more irritable.

Simon Riley wasn’t usually the one to end up on the wrong side of her temper. It was almost always Soap or Gaz who came waddling in with some sort of self-inflicted injury that was from horsing around or “just to see what would happen.” 

Ghost was much more careful. The only times he ever needed her help was when it was something really serious.

So when he came in hobbling on one foot and with a look of embarrassment in his eyes, she knew his streak had been broken. Now she was in a makeshift infirmary in a base in the middle of nowhere, trying to keep him still long enough just to get a good look at his giant’s foot.

“I only do it when I’m uptight,” Ghost muttered, feeling like he was being scolded as if he were a child. “I went outside for a smoke and my fucking ankle just gave out on me.”

Suddenly, her expression changed. A rush of empathy flooded her heart and her eyes morphed into a sensitive look. Ghost knew that she was only being so hard on him because she cared. She worried about his respiratory health due to the cigarettes. She worried about his mental state because he was feeling overwhelmed. Ghost appreciated her concern, but it just seemed like she worried more about others than herself. 

“Awh, Simon…” She sighed. “It has been a hard past few weeks.” 

“You can say that again,” He adjusted his skull mask on his face, to avoid yelping in pain at how she was touching the hurt part of his foot. “Although, I can’t blame that on me busting up my ankle for no reason.” 

“Well, the terrain’s not so level here,” She returned, holding his foot steady in her hands. “Somethin’ probably just snagged your foot when you were walkin’ by.” 

A few minutes of silence passed as she finished looking him over. Ghost strained and fought to keep himself from making any noises of discomfort. He hated being held back like this, and it didn’t help when Captain Price decided to stop by.

“What’s he in for?” Price leaned against the doorway, a grin of amusement on his face. 

She didn’t even have to look at him to know that he had a smirk on his face. She could feel his demeanor from where she sat with her back towards him. She was always happy to see him, but right now she had Ghost to finish tending to.

“Ankle,” She replied, releasing his foot from her hands. “Just twisted it.”

“Do you think he’ll make it?” Price snickered.

She couldn’t help but laugh, but she knew Ghost was feeling lousy, so she didn’t entertain any of Price’s jokes.

“Well, I don’t think it’s broken. I’ll stabilize it and I want you to try to keep weight off of it. Ibuprofen should help with the pain, and I think I’ve got some packs for the swelling.” She said to Ghost, who was just ready to go.

She was true to her word, working carefully and gently to make a splint for his foot, something to keep him from hurting it more. Price enjoyed watching her work. She was so focused and so serious about making sure he was getting the best care possible. 

“I appreciate it, Peach. I guess this is my sign to stop smoking, huh?’ Ghost chuckled, his smooth voice sounding a little bit more lively than usual. 

“Damn right it is,” She replied. “But for now, just worry about this foot healin’ up.”

She helped the monstrously tall man to his feet…or foot, rather – and made sure that he could manage to shift his weight to the other foot. He towered over her, as he did most people, but he was leaning on her like she was her lifeline. Once he was balanced, he was good to go.

“If you need anything, you let me know, okay?” She smiled, that sweet voice sounding out. She reached into her medic bag and retrieved a comfort charm of sorts. “Here’s a little treat for your troubles.”

Ghost’s eyes sparkled at the sight of the small, light pink lollipop, his fingers greedily peeling off the wrapper. 

“Oh, now I know why Johnny’s getting himself banged up all the time,” Ghost raised the lower part of his mask to put the candy in his mouth. “Thanks again, Doc.” He muffled through sucking on the lollipop.

Ghost limped out of the room, but he was moving better than he was when he walked in. Price watched as Ghost made it out of his sight before he turned back to her. Knowing that her attention was free, he spoke again. 

“He’s a grown man, Peaches.” He chuckled. “You’re softening up my men.”

She spun around in her chair, that radiant smile taking his breath away as it always did.

“I’m surely not!” She squeaked. “I’m always takin’ care of you, aren’t I?” 

“Of course. But I don’t ever get sweets.” He claimed, and her brows furrowed. 

“You mean suckers?” She corrected.

“Sweets.” He argued, but in the most playful way.

“Suckers.” She bantered.

This happened all the time. They had very different dialects and very different ways of saying things. She even argued with other Americans about certain words and phrases she used. A southern U.S. accent really is one of a kind, and Price never let her get away with it.

“Alright, well, I never get suckers.” He mocked her accent on the word in question, and she gasped.

“John!” She hissed, but couldn’t wipe the smile off of her face to save her life. “And the reason I don’t give you sweets is because you steal them out of my bag when I’m not looking.”

Now it was his turn to be offended, but only because he had no idea that she had caught on.

“I am appalled at such an accusation,” He clutched his hand to his chest. “How dare you accuse me of being a thief.”

She stood from her seat, reaching for his hand to pull him into the room. His cheeks flushed pink at her gesture, because he knew that it had been a little while since they had a moment alone together. It was hard to get even a few minutes alone when there was so much to be done and so many people around.

“Mm. ‘Cause you only take certain ones, and I know when they go missing.” She wrapped her arms around his neck, which caused the heat in his cheeks to spread to his ears. 

“And which ones are those?” He grinned again, knowing exactly what she was talking about.

She rolled her eyes at him, because she had walked right into this one. 

“The cherry and peach ones.” She sighed, shaking her head at his antics.

He was entertained. She knew him like the back of her hand at this point, the same way that he knew her. He loved nothing more than seeing her figure out something about him without him even telling her. 

Honestly, he wasn’t shocked that she had figured out that he was the one stealing her “suckers.” Although, it would’ve been really easy to frame Soap for their disappearance. 

“Oh? And I wonder why that is…” He continued.

“Cherry is your favorite, and peach reminds you of me.” She laughed under her breath, and hearing her say it brought so much pride to his soul.

“Ah, of course,” He ran his thumb over the apple of her cheek. “Such a smart girl…”

She couldn’t help but look away. If there was anyone who could make her shy, it was John Price. He kissed her then, her grin and giggle vibrating on his lips. They had missed one another, even though they hadn’t gone a day without seeing one another. 

“How are things today?” She asked, changing the subject. 

“The same as yesterday. And the day before…and the day before,” He answered. “I’m tired of sitting around.”

“I know. Me too,” She kissed him again, and his hands squeezed her hips. “Just a couple more days. Then we’ll be up and movin’ along.” 

He grumbled. Price was never one to enjoy the waiting game. He could only play so many rounds of poker with Gaz or tell so many stories with Soap before the boredom started chewing away at him. But that was the reality of some missions: just waiting until the right time to put the plan into action. 

“You make it sound so easy.” He chuckled.

“Know why? ‘Cause I have this little thing called patience.” She grinned.

“You also treat my men like princesses,” He countered. “Next thing you know, you’ll be painting their nails and Soap’s going to walk out in a dress.”

“Please. Soap would do that for five dollars,” She scoffed. “This is why I don’t give you any of my suckers.”

“Oh, that’s cruel, Peachy.” He groaned. “If you give me one, I promise not to make fun of the word ‘sucker’ and I won’t say anything about you turning my team into your squad of girlfriends.” 

“Fine. Deal,” She stepped out of his hold to reach for her bag. “Cherry?”

“Duh.” He sassed, and she rolled her eyes. 

She rummaged through her bag to find a cherry lollipop, but she couldn’t pass up the opportunity to mess with him.

“I think I’m out of cherry ones, honey bun.” She told him, and his jaw dropped open.

“That’s impossible. There were three in there this morning.” He gawked.

“How do you know how many there were if you haven’t been takin’ them out of my bag?” She questioned, not even hiding the victorious expression on her features.

“Uhm…” He paused. “I guessed?” 

“Bullshit!” She snatched a cherry pop out of her bag as if it were damning evidence. “You have been stealing ‘em!”

“I think that stealing is a mighty strong word,” He said. “Think of it more as…helping myself. Besides, I always make it up to you, don’t I?”

She held the stick towards him, and he didn’t hesitate to take it.

“I suppose so,” She watched as he removed the wrapper and popped it into his mouth. “What’s gonna happen if Soap comes in here and I’m out of suckers?”

Price chuckled as he swirled the candy in his mouth.

“He’ll live. It might do him some good.” Price reached for her waist again, pulling her back into his chest. 

“You know, I can just keep a stash just for you. All the cherry ones.” She suggested. 

“You’d do that for me?” His eyes lit up, removing the sucker from his mouth. “Cherry and peach ones?”

She snuck a kiss then, a very cherry tasting one that danced over her lips.

“Sure. And the peach ones.”

[jpmarvel90]

I should have been there!

Masterlist Nat Masterlist

Relationship: MamaNat x 21 yr old Reader

Summary: Y/n's relationship isn't going as well as she planned. But just as she's going to talk to her mama about it, Nat goes on a mission, leaving Y/n to figure out what to do herself.

Word Count: 5417

Y/n's POV:

Although I didn't have the greatest of starts to life, I really got lucky in my teenage years. You see, I was sold by my parents to Hydra when I was a baby. I then spent 14 years of my life being experimented on. Unlike others in the programme, I wasn't treated as one of their own. Although I spent nearly my entire life there, I was very much treated like a prisoner. I was too valuable to them to lose.

Through my time in Hydra, I was given the power to manipulate the elements. I hated it. I struggled for control as the power was so strong. It would physically hurt in my younger years to even try and blow a gust of wind with it. I despised everything about them. My aim in life was to get to a point that I could get rid of them, never having to harm another person against my will again.

This became a possible reality when the Avengers stormed the base I was held in when I was 15. They never saw me as a monster and helped to train me properly to control my powers. I grew close to Nat and Bruce. Nat was very protective of me and became like a mother figure to me in the early days. I aspired to be just like her, being able to do good for the world. When I turned 16, she asked if she could adopt me, and we could be a family together.

It was the best day of my life. Tony helped to get it all done and I soon became Y/n Romanoff. When she adopted me, Nat was only 28 but it didn't matter. She treated me like a normal kid, helped me with schoolwork and was quick to scold me when I had my rebellious moments. Being her daughter is my greatest honour.

With Bruce, I loved spending time with him in his lab. I loved science and he was happy to teach me. I got to hang out and do so many cool things with him and Tony in the lab. It was great fun, and I couldn't believe that this was the life I now had. After all those years locked away, I had this amazing life. I had a family.

It was Bruce that I first talked to about wishing I could get rid of my powers. Unbeknownst to me, he started work the very next day to find out if it would be possible for me to live a life without them. It wasn't until I was 18 that he found a solution. It was a risky procedure but would guarantee that I would never have to live life feeling like a monster anymore.

Mama really wasn't happy at the thought of me going through such a risky procedure. She fought me on it, and we had a huge blow out from it. But when we calmed down and I explained to her exactly why I wanted to do it, she reluctantly agreed. Not that she really had a say as I was 18 and didn't need parental consent anymore.

Luckily, it all went perfectly, my powers were gone. It was weird at first, but I soon got used to it. I was never happier. That was until a year ago. When Mama and Wanda officially got together. I had never seen mama happier than when she was with Wanda. They were each other's missing piece and they fit perfectly together. I loved watching their relationship flourish. I teased mama a lot in the beginning. The usually unflappable black widow was stumbling over her words and blushing at the slightest compliment from Wanda.

Eventually, she got her shit together and asked her out on a date and they never looked back. The love the two of them have, is something you can only aspire to get yourself. It's pure and unconditional. Sure, they have their moments. They argue and disagree. But they always come back to each other stronger than ever.

That's why it was so hard when my own relationship turned sour. I met Aaron six months ago and he was the most sweet and loving man. At 21 he was my first proper boyfriend. It had been near impossible to date before. All the team had a view and were extremely protective.

I met Aaron at a local coffee shop. I had just had an argument with mama about a mission that Tony had asked me to go on. Since I gave up my powers, mama has always been worried about me going on missions. Even though she has trained me to be almost as good as she is. I was so frustrated, I stormed out and spent the afternoon in my favourite coffee shop.

Aaron saw me on my own and teary eyed. He asked to join me, and we talked for hours. It was really funny and caring too. We exchanged numbers and started to go on dates. He really swept me off my feet. I quickly found myself falling for him and decided to bring him home with me for my birthday meal.

I remember the moment he saw who my family was and the look in his eye. It was mixed with terror and awe. With each of them being fiercely protective, he had very intimidating handshakes and quiet threats about my safety. All of which he nodded to and promised he only ever planned to protect me and care for me.

Although most of the team ended up really liking him, mama and Wanda seemed harder to convince. "I just want what's best for my baby." Mama said to me after she had spent an hour grilling Aaron on everything and anything. Weirdly, Wanda was almost more protective. Her eyes would constantly be glowing red as she looked at him. At first, I thought she was reading his mind, but she promised she would never do that unless it was absolutely necessary. She confirmed that she was just making sure that he knew what he was dealing with if he fucked up.

Turns out, that regardless of earth's mightiest heroes threatening him, it didn't discourage Aaron from fucking up!

After my birthday, he started to change. At first it was the odd outburst. He would then profusely apologise for yelling at me and would be so sweet. It actually angers me how long I allowed this behaviour to go on for. Each time I would be fed up and promise I wouldn't take it anymore. But then the sweet and caring man that I had fallen in love with, would come back and treat me how he always had. It was like that side of him had a lock on me and I couldn't shake it.

Unfortunately, that man I loved become harder to find. The outbursts became worse until one day he hit me. The look of terror on his face as he did it, still sits with me. He regretted it with every fibre of his being. For weeks afterwards, he was the man I had remembered, and I genuinely thought that this was the turning points for him. That it was the shock he needed to realise what he was doing.

But once again, I was wrong. He was nicest when we were at the compound. It was like he needed to prove what an amazing guy he was. At first, I loved it, because I was with the sweet and caring guy again. But I soon realised that it was front. When we were at his place, he was slowly turning into a mentally abusive monster. So, I tried to keep him at the compound as often as I could. Not that he was always happy with that as we never had sex there. Something he'd always make up for when I was over at his.

The final straw for me was when he hit me for a second time. He was apologetic once again, but I stormed out. I had enough and I had to get out of this relationship. But I knew I needed help. I may be 22 but I need my mama. I rushed from Aaron's straight home to the compound, rushing through the building to find the person I needed most.

"Mama!" I shout as I see her leaving one of the meeting rooms. "Hi love. What's up?" She asks, still walking towards the elevator. "I really need your help and I wonder if we could talk?" I ask, my heart almost thumping out of my chest. There was a part of me that is terrified at how she's going to react. She didn't raise me to be weak like this. But here I am, allowing myself to be treated like shit by a guy I thought I loved.

"I'm so sorry honey, but I have to leave for a mission. But when I get back, how about we have a mama/daughter day. Just the two of us and we can talk about everything." She suggests. I sigh, hoping to have got this sorted today, but ultimately agree. "Ok mama. How long's the mission?" I ask, joining her in the elevator. "Should only be a week. Then you've got me all to yourself." She replies, pulling me into a hug. "Please be safe." I mumble into her neck, and she lets out a small chuckle. "Aren't I always?" She asks with a raised eyebrow. I quickly pull away and give her a 'you can't be serious' face. "Ok, but I've always come back to you." She adjusts her statement.

I stay with her whilst she gets ready and then join Wanda to see her off on the quinjet. Once the jet has left, Wanda wraps her arm around me and leads me back inside. "Want to watch a movie with me? Or does that boy of yours have your attention today?" She asks as we walk into the common room. I cringe a little at the mention of Aaron, but quickly shake it off. "Yeah, that would be nice."

We decide to watch one in hers and mama's room, raiding the kitchen of all the snack that we want. Whenever mama goes away on a mission without her, Wanda always struggles on the first day. She always worries that something is going to happen to her. Most of the time, we end up spending it together, helping each other with the worry that we have.

Wanda has quickly been becoming a second parental figure to me. She has always made the effort to engage with me, understanding that I'm the baggage that comes with mama. I love Wanda. Not just because she is perfect for Mama, but also because she genuinely cares for me too. I just wish I had the two of them in my life when I was a kid. I can just imagine the three of us living in a house out of the city, maybe them giving me a sibling.

Whilst we're watching the movie, my mind keeps wandering to Aaron and how I'm going to get out of this situation. I had hoped that mama would help me. Though I had planned to omit the physical stuff. She would kill him if she knew, and that's something I don't need. I just need to get out. But I only have to wait a week and she'll be back. I just need to avoid him until then.

"Are you ok sweetie?" Wanda questions, pulling me from my thoughts. I look at her and see a concerned look in her eyes. "Yeah, sorry. Just a little lost in thought on Mama's mission." I lie, not wanting Wanda to know what's going on. She frowns at me a little and I pray that she doesn't question it further. After a moment, she scootches closer to me and wraps me in a hug. "She'll be fine. She always is." She reassures me. And that's how we spend the rest of the evening. Cuddled up in her bed, watching movies and sitcoms.

Over the next few days, Aaron is frantically trying to get a hold of me. His texts and voicemails are apologetic, promising it'll never happen again. But I'm done now. I know that it's a lie and I can't stay in the relationship anymore. But the mistake I do make, is thinking that he will be in an agreeable mood to talk. I text him and tell him I'm on my way to his to talk. It's time that I end this.

"Y/n! Wait." Wanda calls after me as I get out of the elevator. "What's up Wands?" I reply and I notice her eyebrows furrowed. "Is everything ok? You've seemed a little off these last couple of days." She states, and I feel my heart rate increase, my head screaming that I should tell her what is happening. But I'm too embarrassed. "I'm ok. Just missing mama." I partially lie. I can tell she's not buying it so I start to move towards the door. "I'm heading over to Aaron's. But do you want to hang out when I'm back?" I ask, hoping the promise of a hang out will help to ease her own nerves. She nods and gives me a hug, then allows me to leave.

As soon as I walk through Aaron's door, he's pulling me into a hug, repeatedly apologising for what he had done. "Enough." I state firmly, wanting to show him that I'm strong. "I promise, I will never do it again. I will change. I will be the person you deserve." He begs, his hands still clinging to mine. "You promised me that the first time Aaron. But it did happen again. I just don't trust you." I tell him, seeing a flash of anger in his eyes. "Then let me earn that trust back. I can't lose you." His hands grip on mine tightens to a point it almost hurts. "Aaron. Please let go. You're hurting me." I request softly but he shakes his head. "Not until you promise that you won't leave me."

I try to pull my hands away, but he doesn't allow it. "Aaron. I'm not staying in this relationship. I genuinely am scared of where it is going. You've hit me twice and your attitude towards me has changed. You're no longer the caring man I met in the coffee shop." I gain confidence, knowing that I want nothing more than for this relationship to end.

"Well, why do you think that is. You've made me into this man Y/n. Maybe if you had been a better girlfriend, I would act like I do." At his words, I aggressively snatch my hands from his grip. "No. I am not at fault here for you hitting me. You're just proving my point. This is over Aaron. We are over." I state firmly, turning to leave as quickly as I can. But as soon as I reach the door, his hand slams it shut. "You're not going anywhere."

Nat's POV:

Something is definitely wrong with Y/n. The whole journey on the quinjet, I'm regretting not staying behind and talking with her. It seemed urgent and she was flustered. Add that to the fact she's been withdrawing over the last few weeks, my concern is growing rapidly. Just the other night whilst I was led with Wanda, I shared my fears.

We had just finished another episode of the Dick Van Dyke show, but I was distracted as my hand mindlessly stroked through Wanda's hair. "Your mind is elsewhere tonight Detka." Wanda observes, switching off the TV and turning to look at me. "I'm worried about Y/n." I share easily. I see Wanda's face flash with worry. "What's wrong with her?" She asks quickly and I smile for a moment at the love that she has for my daughter.

I love their relationship. It's been growing so much over the last few months. Wanda is desperate to become Y/n's second mom, even though she's only 10 years older than her. I genuinely can't wait for that to happen so we can be a proper family together. "I don't know. But haven't you noticed that she's more withdrawn lately? She's not got her usual confidence." I reply and watch for Wanda's response. "Now you say it, she isn't as happy as she has been. Do you think it's to do with Aaron?" She asks, a hint of distaste at the name.

We both have had our reservations about him, but neither of us can put a finger on why. All the times we've met him, he's been so lovely. He is very caring of Y/n and makes the effort with us all when he's in the compound. But there is just this nagging feeling that he's not all he seems. "I don't know. Maybe. I just don't like the idea of her needing help but being afraid to ask for it." I share my fears. I've always tried to be the mother that Y/n deserves. Someone she can talk to regardless of what's going on. I want her to feel safe and unjudged whilst she's with me. But something seems to be stopping her.

"Do you want me to go in her mind?" Wanda asks, but I quickly shake my head. "No! She would never forgive you and your relationship is one of the good things at the moment." I quickly shut down the idea. "Then we just have to be there for her." She comforts me.

But now, I'm on the quinjet, realising that I wasn't there for her when she needed me. She actually came to talk to me and I still came on this mission. Worried about my daughter I decide to message Wanda.

Nat: Hey, I hate that I left like I did. Y/n wanted to talk but I didn't have time. Please can you keep an eye on her over the next few days? I'll try and get this mission done as quickly as possible to come home to her.

Wanda: Of course detka. We're currently watching a movie together. Focus on your mission and I'll be here for Y/n.

I sigh in relief, knowing that she's already comforting Y/n. I know they always hang out when I first leave for a mission without them. But today, it gives me a bit more relief knowing that Y/n isn't alone.

After a few days, the mission is going well. I'll hopefully be home two days early, Clint, Steve and I just need to get this sorted and then I can be back home with my family.

Whilst having breakfast, my phone rings and I see Wanda's name appear. I smile and answer it. "Hi babe." I greet her but her concerned voice floods me with worry. "Nat, how quickly can you get home?" I don't respond straight away, panic rushing through me at what could be wrong. "Uh, I can try and leave now. What's up?" I ask, moving to the next room where Steve and Clint are. They both look at me but their smiles drop when they see my demeanour.

"This is going to sound strange, but I need you to trust me." She prefixes her next sentence. I quickly put my phone on speaker so the others can hear and save me explaining why I need to leave so rapidly. "Something is wrong with Y/n. More so than usual. She was really deflated this morning and her aura is just completely dark. I think something is wrong with Aaron and I'm about to go over there." She shares and I feel like my heart stops for a moment.

If Wanda feels that something is wrong, then it is. I've never known her to be wrong with something like  this. "I can be home in two hours. Don't go on your own." I tell her, looking at Steve and Clint who both nod. They know not to come between Y/n and I. "Quicker if I can override the quinjet's restrictions." I'm now running around grabbing my things whilst finishing up my conversation with Wanda.

"We've got this. Just focus on Y/n." Steve reassures me with a hand to my shoulder. I rush off and jump in the quinjet and set a course for home. Within 15 minutes I'm able to override the restrictions on the jet and my journey time is cut down to an hour. Though it might as well be 10 with the speed it feels like it's going. My anxiety is growing with every second. I should never have left her.

The moment the quinjet touches down I run out to greet Wanda who is ready and waiting to leave. We jump in my corvette and drive straight to Aaron's. "She's going to be fine." Wanda tries to comfort me, but I can tell by her own voice she doesn't believe it herself.

The car has barely stopped before Wanda is jumping out and running up the stairs to Aaron's apartment. I'm quickly behind her and I don't hesitate to kick the door down when I hear a cry of pain. The minute I see the scene in front of me, my whole body just freezes. My daughter is on the floor, barely conscious with the man that promised he only ever wanted to love her, beating her.

I completely fail her as I freeze. If I haven't failed her before this. How could I not see this? I'm a fucking spy! A deeper cry of pain pulls me out of my trance. I see Aaron in a heap on the floor, Wanda's red whisps dissipating. I rush over to Y/n, falling to my knees to cup her battered face in my hands. "Oh, my sweet baby." I whisper. "Stay awake for me ok. We're going to get you help." I plead with her as I can see her eyes struggling to stay open.

"I'll call Tony to get the medical wing ready and get Fury to send someone over to deal with that asshole." Wanda takes control of the situation, though I can see fear in her own face. "I'm so sorry baby. I should never have left for that mission." I fight back tears. I'm shocked when I see Y/n smile at me. "It's not your fault mama. I hid this from you for too long." She chokes out. "It hurts." She complains as a coughing fit takes over her body.

My heart stops when I see blood, indicating that she has a punctured lung. Her breathing starts to get laboured, and I look to Wanda with a pained look in my eyes. "Tony is on the way to take her back to the compound. Cho and Banner will be waiting." Wanda informs me, kneeling down next to me. She places a hand on my back and then one on Y/n's bruised cheek. "I should never have let you go." She mumbles.

Y/n tries to talk, but it's becoming too much. "It's ok. You don't need to say anything. Just stay awake with us until we can get you help." I plead with her. I can see the pain in her eyes, and it breaks my heart even further. Though that is soon replaced by anger when I hear grunting from behind us. The asshole has woken.

I quickly stand up and march my way over to him, pulling him to his feet and pinning him to the wall. "You're a fucking asshole. I told you to never hurt her." I shout at him before I punch him square in the nose. Anger takes over me and I start to throw punch after punch, wanting him to feel the same pain that Y/n is. "Nat, stop!" Wanda shouts, pulling me away from him and into her arms. "Y/n needs you and he is not worth it." She whispers in my ear.

I'm breathing heavily as I stare down the piece of shit in front of me. "He deserves to pay." I growl. "I know and he will. But go and be with our daughter." She instructs. My head snaps to her when I hear the words she just used. Our daughter. I slowly make my way over to Y/n and take her hand in mine again. Though my gaze wanders to Wanda as she picks Aaron up with her powers. "You are lucky that we have a semblance of control. Unlike you it seems. There is nothing I want more than to help my girlfriend in beating you to a pulp, but we are better than you. It doesn't mean that you're getting away with it. We'll still make sure your life is hell for what you've done. I promised you that you would pay if you hurt my daughter. I don't break my promises." Her words are laced with venom, and I can see the pure fear in Aaron's eyes.

But we don't have long to relish in at as the door slams open to Tony and Bucky rushing in. They both stop in their tracks as they see me bent over the beaten body of my daughter. She means so much to everyone in the team, seeing her like this is going to hurt them almost as much as it does me. "The jet's in the field opposite. Let's take her home. The Shield agents are outside to deal with that asshole." Tony lets us know, moving towards Y/n to assess her injuries. "You're ok baby spider. We're going to get you home now." He speaks gently to her, and I see her smile as she still tries to fight to stay awake.

The whole way home, I'm clinging to her hand. She lost consciousness within a few minutes of taking off, but Tony assured me she was in safe hands, and they would get her fixed up in no time. They rolled her straight to the medical centre when we landed, Wanda and I hot on their tails.

We waited outside, watching on through the window as the three of them worked on Y/n. Wanda held me as I broke down when we saw the extent of her injuries when they removed her shirt. What animal could do that to a person? It was hours before Bruce came out to talk to us. My heart was in my mouth as I waited to hear the damage. "How is she?" I rush out as he takes a seat opposite us. "She's lucky. She has four broken ribs. One of which punctured her lung, which we have managed to fix up. Her left collarbone is shattered, and she has a fracture to her left radius. We've controlled the mass internal bleeding but had to remove part of her spleen. She also has a fractured eye socket and broken nose as well as a small bleed on the brain. But we're confident that it will heal with medication and rest." He lists off her injuries.

I feel Wanda's grip tighten around me with every new injury. "Will she be, ok?" I ask, hoping that she's going to make a full recovery. "Over time, yes. She'll be in the medical wing for a week or two so we can monitor her head and internal injuries. If all goes well, it'll be physio for her broken bones." He answers and I let out a sigh of relief. "Can we see her?" Wanda asks almost desperately. "Of course. She's going to need all the support she can get." He says, moving to show us to her.

As soon as I'm in the room with her, I rush to her side and take the seat to her right. I take her hand in mine and place a kiss against it. "Oh, my sweet baby. I'm so sorry." I mumble through a cry. "This is torture seeing her like this. I just want to protect her with everything that I have." Wanda says, making me smile at the love she has for her. But I quickly remember that we're here because of me. "I should have stayed here Wands. I was already worried something was wrong and then she asked to talk with me." I ramble, getting lost in the pain of allowing this to happen to my daughter. "No. You're not in the wrong here Nat. You weren't to know. You were just doing your job." She quickly sets me straight. Not that I believe it.

"If anyone is to blame it's me. I knew something was wrong when she left for Aaron's, yet I let her go. If I had stopped her or at least gone with her, then I could have stopped this. She wouldn't be led in this bed." Wanda cries. I hate seeing her blame herself. "Neither of you are to blame." I scratchy voice puts us straight. Both Wanda and I's head shoot up to see Y/n smiling at us both. "Oh sweetheart. Thank God you're ok." I place a gentle kiss against her forehead as Wanda grabs a cup of water and a straw.

She holds it out and helps Y/n to drink it. "Thanks mom." She says, making Wanda short circuit. A wide smile grows on my face as a few tears escape Wanda's eye. "I should have called you that earlier, but I guess I was too scared." Y/n admits, which makes Wanda quickly lean down to wrap her in a careful hug. "Oh Y/n. I have seen you as my daughter for so long now. I can't tell you how happy it makes me that you see me like a mom." She shares through tears.

"How are you feeling love?" I ask after they've had their moment. "A bit sore but just grateful the two of you go to me in time." She responds. "I'll go and grab Bruce so he can give you some pain meds." Wanda stands to leave, but Y/n stops her. "Please stay. I just want to be with you two for now." She pleads. Wanda nods and retakes her seat. "We're so sorry. Y/n. We should have done more." I say, hoping that she'll forgive us.

Turns out we don't need it. "It's not either of your fault. I mean that. I was too scared to admit what was happening and I never would have asked you to stay behind from a mission for me. The only person to blame is Aaron." She tells us both sternly, with no room for us to argue. "I just want to move on from this." She adds. "What can we do to help?" Wanda asks whilst my thumb is slowly rubbing circles over her bloodied knuckles, showing she put up a fight.

Y/n has a smirk on her face as she looks between us. "Get married." She states and it makes both Wanda and I choke on air. Y/n is looking very proud of herself as I meet Wanda's eyes. "I-I had hoped it would uh, be more romantic." I stumble over my words as Wanda's cheeks blush. "What's better than it happening in front of our daughter." Wanda gains some confidence as she speaks.

Y/n gives my hand a tug and nods her head to encourage me. "Ok. Wanda, will you marry me?" I ask shyly. Wanda stands up and comes to the other side of Y/n's bed. "I will always say yes." She responds, leaning down to capture my lips. It doesn't last though when we pull away quickly after hearing a squeal followed by a grunt of pain from Y/n. "What's wrong sweetheart?!" Wanda asks worriedly, looking over Y/n. "I'm ok. I just got a little too excited." She admits timidly.

We both laugh. "I'm getting Bruce this time." Wanda says firmly, earning a pout from both Y/n and I. "I'll be right back my loves." She smiles, giving me a peck and them placing a kiss on Y/n's forehead. We both watch her leave and then Y/n takes my hand. "I am so happy for you mama." She says with a bright smile. Though my heart constricts when I taken in the swollen eyes and bruises. "I gently run my finger over her cheek, and she winces slightly. "I'm ok Mama. I've got the best family behind me." She says, the optimistic girl I know and love returning. I am just so happy I could give her the family she deserves.  

[cloudninetonine]

Oh boy requests are open👀

I'm gonna stay on topic because fairy Hyrule makes me feel happiness I haven't felt in weeks (thanks finals).

may I request some Fairy! Hyrule and player? Or if you want to spice it up Fairy! Hyrule and Fae! Player (because that was a really big thing that I really miss Fae! Player please come back baby I've changed!!). I feel like even before they recognized each other it was the equivalent of that spiderman meme.

I don't think I did this right now that I reread this :') I hope you like it all the same!

Hyrule was already a place of many wonders when you had first stumbled through that portal of dark magic. The lush green fields, the towering oak forests, the magical sights of fairy fountains or the mythical beasts the wandered the planes without a single care in the world. It was truly a masterpiece, something taken straight from a fairytale and you stayed mystified the entire step of the way.

What would you see? Where would you go? What would happen? So many questions laid out, cards dealt by destiny as you experienced a Hylians life and more.

This was one of those more occasions.

A blessing cast upon you and now you were the size of a common fairy, dressed in magical silks with a beautiful glow as you tried to fly around the small fairy fountain surrounded by faefolk.

The Great Fairy had found you adorable, fluttering about in a cute daze trying to comprehend the beating of those beautiful sparkling wings on your back. The sister fairies giggled and cooed, rushing to bombarded you with praise and reassurances that you were doing so well, trying to navigate and stay calm. And Hyrule…well, Hyrule-

You had found him in a cave, shrouded in ivy and moss, the walls decorated in beautiful luminous algae that only enhanced the pure ethereal look to it all. The small running stream singing off the rock as it delved deeper and deeper into the mysterical grounds. Some sister fairies flew, gaping and greeting you kindly as you searched quietly for your other half, not wanting to interrupt their daily goings. You felt like an intruder, despite being welcome and you hurried only to pause upon seeing him.

Fluttering just above the small lake, wings beating similar to a humming bird as he conversed quietly with a group of fae. A small opening in the ceiling brought a halo of light that made him look truly magical among the girls. Maybe it it was you simping heart or maybe it was the truth, but Hyrule looked to be the prettiest in the room.

You called out to him, slowly hovering over, watching him turn in surprise only to pause.

He looked starstruck as you fluttered right before him, looking flustered and refusing to share his gaze.

“You…” He started, reaching out to gently brush his hand against your arm. “You look-”

“Silly.” Finishing, you shrunk a little more. “I look silly-”

“Breathtaking.” Capturning your chin, your eyes met in exchange. “Why would you say something so foolish, my dear?”

“I….I just don’t think being a fairy suits me, alright? I’m not very graceful or elegant.”

“Nonesense, graceful is too weak a word to describe the beauty you possess right now- not that you aren’t beautiful all the time!” He yelped, an image of nervous sweat brewing on his brow in your mind. “But seeing you like this…you are quite stunning, my dear.”

He looked puzzled next, “Why are you like this, anyhow? How did you come to turn into a fairy?”

“Well, everyone was trying to look for you after lunch and so I decided to have a look-”

“You left camp by yourself!?”

“-let me finish, thank you- anyway, I came across a fairy fountain and I decided “Well, if anyone knows it’s gonna be one of your mothers or your sisters” and they did. But instead of just telling me your mother decided to turn me into a fairy so I could find you instead.” You smiled, crooked. “I have already fallen four times.”

The snort that escaped him wasn’t amusing in the slightest, your face reflecting your souring expression only to vanish when he decided to tug you closer, an arm snaking around your waist while the other came to intertwine your fingers. His sisters had zipped off with laughs, watching from afar the scene as the man began to gently sway you. Slow at first. You weren’t perfect at this, but with time came clarity and you were able to keep up with his movements.

“Why are we dancing?”

“Why not?”

“Hm, fair enough.”

The hums of the girls were you ballad, the surface of the pond your dancefloor and Hyrule as your partner was truly a fairytale. Sharing giggles and taking turns to dip, spin and lift one another like dancers in an actual ball, your audience enjoyed the show by sharing applause in the face of he final dip, your eyes looking up to Hyrule with nothing but love and excitement.

“Well, fairy prince.” But a whisper, your hand came to hold his cheek. “I think this is the part where you kiss me.”

“A ruin the stillness of this moment? What an absurd idea, my dear.”

At your pout he chuckled, leaning closer. “But…if that’s truly what you wish.”

Your shared glow bloomed, bouncing off the reflection of the water and showering the cave in iridescent light.

You would have to thank the Great Fairy later.

[baldursghaik]

Tagged by @wisp-of-chaos!

Thank you so much for the tag! (and it’s also a miracle I even saw it, tumblr is so bad about giving me @ notifs, but this one didn’t even link, I was so lucky that I happened to see it on my dash!)

Without further ado, Thyneron:

Phobias and other fears: The list of things he’s NOT afraid of might be shorter, because he is the world’s biggest scaredy-cat. His main fear is death, though: the hurting, being scared, and the pure finality of it all. He’s almost equally afraid of other people dying as well, because it’s a reminder of how terribly fragile people (himself) are, and how quickly it can all be over.

Pet Peeves: People who are mean spirited and unnecessarily unkind or cruel.

3 things you can always find in their bedroom: Books, nice soaps/perfumes, photos of his family and pets.

First thing they notice in a person: Their eyes, and whether they seem friendly or not. He is an absolutely garbage judge of character.

On a scale of 1-10, how high is their pain tolerance? 2, he is the coughing baby vs the hydrogen bomb of general existence.

Do they go into fight or flight mode when under pressure? 100% flight, he is as conflict avoidant as possible.

Do they come from a big family/are they a family person? He is deeply, DEEPLY, family oriented. He comes from an enormous family, and has even continued to live with this parents well into his forties in spite of being well off on his own accord. His parents enjoy that their eldest son gets along with them so well, but they do wish he’d go and actually start living his own life.

What animal represents them best? Rabbits. They’re perhaps the best known prey animal (which is Thyneron to a T), but they also symbolize reproduction, death, and rebirth, which fits his entire arc in bg3 (and the life he lives beyond) quite nicely.

What is a smell they dislike? Florals, anything grassy. He much prefers woody, earthy, and metallic scents.

Have they broken any bones? Prior to turning illithid, no. There’s certainly something funny about avoiding even a single broken bone your entire life and then having them all snap simultaneously though.

How would a stranger likely describe them? Anyone’s first impression would be that this guy is loaded. Further impressions would be what any tiefling could expect: commentary on the horns, tail, etc. Most people would probably be somewhat puzzled to see a tiefling so well off. Beyond that though, most people can probably peg that there’s something a little… off about him. Not necessarily in a bad way, but he certainly doesn’t fit in anywhere. He’s too well dressed, too formal, too bright/loudly colored, too everything. In short, he looks like a bit of a tryhard who’s both out of touch with average people, but also the patriars and nobles he was raised alongside.

Are they a night owl or morning bird? A night owl. Usually spent staying up late reading, but occasionally drinking/partying with his family.

What is a flavor they hate and a flavor they love? He loves anything fermented, tangy and sour. He dislikes anything bland and delicate, as he prefers rich foods with intense flavors. He’s especially fond of cured meats.

Do they have any hobbies? Reading is his primary hobby. Most of his “work” day involves sitting in the library and losing himself in anything he can get his hands on, whether it’s ancient historical documents or cheap bodice ripper romances. This man would read the phone book if there wasn’t anything better to do. History is by far his preferred subject, though.

Boom, surprise birthday party! How do they react to surprises? He would love this. Happy surprises are always welcome! He’s sociable (… as much as he can be for a homebody shut-in) and likes to be around people, and this would pretty much make his day that people cared enough to plan something for him.

Do they like to wear jewelry? He’s got several piercings: three in each ear, a loop in each eyebrow, and a nose ring. He probably would have added to the collection if it weren’t for that whole “turning into a squid” thing. He doesn’t particularly enjoy jewelry post illithid transformation, though (at least… on himself).

Do they have messy handwriting? He has impeccably neat and precise handwriting. Like all good historians, though, he can read even the most illegible chicken scratch.

What are the two emotions they feel the most? Guilt and fear. Primarily guilt. He is intensely privileged, and he knows it, and spends a not insignificant amount of time agonizing over it.

Do they have a fabric? Shot silk! I never bother to actually paint it in because I’m lazy, but I absolutely envision that his fancy day clothes are shotted blue with green, to provide a subtle iridescent sheen.

An example, if you’re not familiar with it:

What kind of accent do they have? He’s from the Upper City and sounds like it: he’s well spoken, formal, and polite. On a purely vocal level, he’s a little bit nasally, but sounds like he’d have a pleasant singing voice if he actually tried.

I like that this meme has painted him to be an extraordinarily better person than he actually is, which is a pretty excellent illustration of the fact that he’s an awful person, but believes that feeling bad about it is enough to absolve him of his actions.

Tagging: @themumblingmouse, @arcandoria, @ronqueesha,

@voidspearzhovae, @des-no9, @poly-hebdo, @adultfiendfinder, and anyone else who wants to do this!

[dark-elf-writes]

Reborn would have let Nana kill Iemitsu, would have let her get that closure if she felt it needed, but part of him was glad she let him do it. Nana and Tsunayoshi were his, his to take care of and love. The closest thing he’s ever had to family. They didn’t need to stain their hands when he was there, able and ready to take care of it for them with already blood soaked hands

The two both care too much for people, far more than most deserved really (far more than Reborn deserved) and he didn’t know how that deep love would translate when taking a life. There was no doubt Nana loved Tsuna more than anything, but he didn’t want to leave her with any possible guilt. The type of guilt good people like Nana and Tsuna were haunted by, the type people like Reborn brushed off like nothing

Besides, part of him had been waiting for this for a very long time. Iemitsu had a lot to answer for and Reborn was the furthest thing from merciful when those that were his were threatened

Reborn had sworn to himself when he was young and arrogant (“More arrogant,” Nana would have teased in that quiet way of hers, all sweet smiles and that wicked gleam in her eyes hidden to all but those who knew to look) that he would never allowed himself to be leashed, professionally and personally. Attachments had been weakness. Attachments often meant death in this line of work. He was supposed to be the best. He couldn’t afford something as trivial as attachments to keep him down.

That had, of course, all been thrown out the window when he met a girl younger than him, sweeter than him, but with the same calculation in her eyes that was in his own. Nana had been a beautiful child in both looks and action, and had taken one look at him bleeding in the middle of some alley in Japan after a job turned sour (he had completed it. Of course he had completed it. He was the best at what he did.) and had decided to help him.

He had been her loyal dog ever since. A beloved family pet that would paint the world red to keep her smiling.

She called him her brother. He pretended he deserved it.

More connections had come afterwards, to protect her, to… appease her when she thought he had too few friends. The Arcobaleno. The best and brightest of their fields. Coworkers first, then comrades, then Family. (Not family in the way Nana was family but the closest he would come to outside of her except perhaps Dino, his kind hearted student with a will of pure steel.)

Then came Tsunayoshi.

Reborn had wanted to kill Iemitsu from the moment he had met him, the arrogant bastard that was so sure he was pulling one over on his little sister, leaving her in the dark of a secret she had known long before meeting him, but he had never felt the urge so keenly as when he got a call from a crying and clearly pained Nana telling him that the baby was coming and she was alone.

He had been there with her, letting her grip his hand so tightly his bones creaked and brushing her sweaty hair out of her face. He still kicked himself for not having his name put on the birth certificate but contented himself with his title of godfather.

It came as no surprise to him that he loved Tsunayoshi just as much as he loved his mother. That he was already willing to drown the world in blood to keep the little boy in his arms safe.

He had shown his love in the only way he knew how, by offering Nana Iemitsu’s head on a platter and when she turned him down by offering everything else he had instead. All his money all his connections. Anything for the two of them.

Nana had smiled when she turned him down exhausted and looking so worn thin. Reborn had kept offering.

He would have let her make the kill in the end, but he could not deny that he was glad that it was his hands covered in blood in the end. What else was a dog good for if not this?

[dimicul]

I’d like to think Simon’s first ‘girlfriend’ was purely on accident.

Ink stained fingers, scratched up beaten palms - he has his hands around a paperback book he had been eyeing for weeks now. He’s not one to steal, he knows from his right and his wrongs - Simon doesn’t see anything wrong with sitting idly on the stairs of an empty hallway, nose in the dusty pages.

It’s his retreat. From the world, from his classmates, from home. Letting his blackened eyes skim over the words slowly, the worlds and wonders of sci-fi alien ships and snotty romances blurring his reality for only a few hours. Maybe it was a bit sad - he didn’t want to go out and kick the ball around for lunch, instead he wanted to draw his knees into his chest and read the rest of this Dickens paperback. Peace and quiet.

It’s not until a girlish, skittish voice echoes from the top of the stairs. Simon’s always been someone on high alert, having to live life on ‘fight or flight’ mode. His shoulders tense, head peering up, tightening his hold on the pages. A girl. Simon scrunched his nose up. Most of the girls in his class were annoyingly cheery or just painstakingly shy, but Simon was also aware nobody really wanted to be friends with the quiet boy with purple and blue-ish hues on his skin.

“‘M just gonn’a wash my hands!” The voice calls out to someone before they rush down the stairs, the tapping of their kickers hitting the concrete steps. Lisa Wright. Small, skinny little girl with knobbly knees and black unruly curls. Simon feels like a deer caught in headlights when her bright expression flickers to his. Lisa smiles, an unusually warm one that softens when her gaze flickers to the book in his palm. Instantly, he shuts it away, expression souring.

“Lads like you don’t read, Simon. Ye’ too fuckin’ thick.”

It hits him like a wave of nausea. His teachers didn’t care if he read, in fact they said he was reading at a higher level than most people, but he didn’t know Lisa. Small Lisa with her baby pink chipped nails and pain splattered clothes. Somehow messy but put together, like her parents cared enough to iron her clothes and kiss her to bed.

A week passes after their weird stare off, and she’s somehow always finding him - well, that was what Simon was in disbelief about, but the girl can’t help but giggle - “You’re always sat there!”

A few weeks pass, Lisa is stopping now. To talk to him. It’s stupid little questions, about their maths homework or about the cartoon character on his school bag, and Simon is left with his ears burning red at the tips. Lisa Wright was a kooky, crazed girl with no awareness whatsoever, and Simon was left wondering why he was starting to look forward to speaking to her.

“You still haven’t finished that book.” Lisa had said in a matter-of-fact tone, looking up from the plush carpet under them. Their English teacher had let Simon sleep on the rug for an hour before lesson. He knew the bruises were getting worse, he could feel a sharp shooting pain every time he nudged his back up, but when Lisa opens her mouth he’s found himself to be distracted. Like she sees past the black smudged under his eyes, the crinkled uniform, sullied skin.

“It’s long.” The young boy mumbled, rubbing his eyes. He sits up warily, eyes flittering to the book in her hands.

“What are you doing?” Simon freezes, heart jackhammering in his chest - he lunges forward and snatches the Dickens book out of her tan palms. It was his - his property, and she had been holding it all wrong -

“I just wanted to read it!”

“Then don’t break it.” He grumbled back, fingers tracing the binding.

“I didn’t.” Lisa insisted, her eyes rolling back dramatically. Simon knows if he had done the same thing at home, his parents wouldn’t have approved. Simon sighs, and points to the binding.

“You can’t hold it like that - you gotta be car’ful with the pages.”

Lisa copies his movements. She holds it gently, finger tips brushing against the pages. When he nods, much to her delight, she beams.

The next day Lisa was carrying a book.

“Look! I told my mum ‘an I wanted to read like you!” She bubbles, pointing at the cover when they’re situated on the carpet again. It’s hard for him to look up with the searing pain in his neck but he nods, cheeks flaring up. Roald Dahl book. James and the Giant Peach.

“I didn’t like that one.” Simon mutters, playing with the loose thread on his school trousers.

“Why?”

Simon shrugs, almost embarrassed. “‘S scary.”

When her eyes light up with amusement, lips drawing into a grin, Simon flushes again and grips the plush pillow beside him. Lisa is giggling a little. She was making fun of him. Of course she was. I mean, she was Lisa Wright, with her all her preppy little friends and colourful beads in her curls - why would she wanna be friends with someone like him? A good for nothing twat who’s scared of books. Simon tenses his jaw so hard he can hear it crack.

“That’s okay. You don’t have to be scared.”

Obviously, it takes him by surprise. He’s never been told that. Never really felt it either. But the next day, when school ends and he’s sat perched on the office waiting chairs, slumped with his school bag alone because mum had forgotten to pick him up again, he understood. He doesn’t have to be scared with Lisa.

Lisa and her mum pick him up instead. He’s sat bright red in the back of a white Corsa - feeling a little grubby to be in the plush seats - listening to Lisa beg and beg for him to stay. “Just for tea!” she says.

He didn’t have to be scared. Not when Lisa’s big dog jumped up at him and his arms go to protect him instinctively, because the girl is calming the canine down and coaxing him with a smile. He didn’t need to be afraid when Lisa’s mum bombards him with questions about his mum, or his scars - the girl is lying for him, telling her it was football.

“Is your mum nice?”

Simon looks up from the faded comic in his hands, fingertips stained from blueberry sherbet sweets. His mum used to be nice. She used to sing and dance clumsily to Just Dance, pulling Simon in to join her, peppering him with kisses when they’re done, sweaty and happy. But now all she did was sleep, and if it wasn’t that, it was yelling. At him. At anyone.

He was too young to understand at the time. She was absent from parents evenings, forgetting to pick him up, neglecting the house work. He missed his mum - the once bright and lively woman he could trust. Now, he can’t even run behind her legs when Dad was drunk.

“Sometimes.” Simon says quietly, the shame burning in his throat. Perhaps Lisa had realised, and he had to give her credit for being so perceptive. But he hated it. Simon didn’t need pity, he didn’t want it.

“Well, I think you’re really nice.”

“Don’t care.” He grits out. His ears redden.

A beat passes, and she’s tilting her big brown eyes up at him. Simon realises how similiar she is to her mum.

“Are you my boyfriend?”

“No!”

“Mum has one. His name is James. He taught me how to chop fire. But sometimes, they kiss ‘nd stuff.” Lisa’s button nose scrunched up and Simon feels himself becoming a beetroot.

“Well, I don’t wanna be yours!”

“Oh.” Lisa slumps her shoulders, almost looking a bit confused. Simon shouldn’t have come here. He blows out a breath of frustration, adjusting the blue collared shirt around him.

“Is it because I can’t read?”

Simon frowns. He’s not sure of Lisa is pulling his leg, but judging on her purely puzzled face, she seems to be genuine. “You.. can’t?”

Lisa nods. “Not like you can. ‘M too daft to read. The words go all weird.”

The cogs in Simon’s brain are cranking, her words igniting something familiar. He thrusts the comic towards her. “G’won, read that.”

“No!”

“What, you scared?” Simon sneers at her outraged expression. She’s rolling her eyes again, something she knew got on his nerves.

“You’re the one scared of a peach!”

His expression goes stony. Lisa narrows her eyes and glares at him before grabbing the comic harshly, brown eyes bobbing up and down the pages.

“Bhaat… man. Batman.” Lisa sounds out. Simon snorts.

“You’re really that bad?”

“Goooth.. Ghootam.. Goothum..”

—-

[extraordinaryhistories]

#15 – 'Kill' (A Sun Came, 1998)

In 2016, a man named Marc Rebillet (yes, that Marc Rebillet) decided to search through a dumpster outside Sufjan’s studio in DUMBO, Brooklyn, which is a very mature and adult thing to do and reflects fantastically on Marc as a person, and certainly should have no consequences on his thriving music career. In that dumpster, he found an odd-looking CD – an unreleased album with a black-and-white cover titled Stalker, claiming to be performed by Sufjan Stevens. It had been recorded some time in the 1990s, and on a quick listen (the album was swiftly leaked online), it certainly sounded like early Sufjan, back when he did wild electric guitar freak-outs; his hushed but nasally vocal tone from that era is unmistakeable.

Everything seemed normal, except for the fact that the album was about tracking, sexually assaulting and then murdering people. It contained songs with titles like ‘I Know Where Your Kids Go to School’, ‘Baby Give Me a Feel’ and ‘U Kan Wrun But U Kan’t Hyde’. None of it was metaphorical. Sufjan recorded a noise rock album in the 90s that was quite literally about fucking stalking people. And then, not five years later, recorded ‘For the Widows in Paradise, for the Fatherless in Ypsilanti’. It boggles the mind.

At the time that Stalker was released, a significant portion of the Sufjan fan community cast doubt on the veracity of the leak. One of the major concerns was that the subject matter was far too direct, far too gruesome, for a Sufjan song. He would never be so brutally direct. He would never. Right?

‘Kill’ is a song by Sufjan Stevens that features the following as its chorus: ‘I want to kill him / I want to cut his brain / And when it's over / I know I'll feel okay’. Ah. Case closed.

The third-last track on A Sun Came, ‘Kill’ is a knotty piece of songwriting that may be the most multi-layered lyrical construction in his early work. Even purely on inspection one can see this to be true – it is a song with a clear narrative, some clear themes, a roiling balance of light and dark within it, which is far more than can be said for much of this era. But then you get to the allusions this song pays to other literary and musical sources, and things only begin to complicate further. I, personally, have not quite made my mind up about ‘Kill’. It is a song loaded with possibility.

An initial reading of ‘Kill’ gives the strong suggestion of a relationship narrative, and I do think that this is what lies at the song’s core. The relationship in this song need not be romantic, but given the sheer depth and fury of the passion here, it seems highly probable. There is a narrator who exists in what is very much a lopsided power dynamic with another (male) figure; very rarely is the narrator an active subject in this song, instead being subject to the figure’s curation and exploitation. The figure ‘took the stable / Bred me to be a mare / Made the brethren able / Gave me a room’, all of which are ostensible acts of kindness that nevertheless confirm a ruler/ruled dynamic. 

We receive that same confirmation in the next verse. ‘I never asked him / I never meant to stay’, says the narrator, and very quickly the song sours. The narrator finds themselves being used and abused, ‘never [leaving] the stall’ while their partner readily leaves their side. Any sense of a romantic relationship in an ideal sense – two partners, ‘riding side by side / Into the frontier’, tackling the world’s challenges as a single, symbiotic unit – is long defunct. Only misery remains for the narrator, with hope long-dashed by a pattern of careless exploitation.

With this as our narrative foundation, we reach the song’s climax, one of the most striking and instantly memorable moments in his catalogue on account of how utterly depraved it is. We are left with no doubt that Sufjan’s narrator is in a state of abject misery up to this point. But misery in Sufjan songs is so often detached, poetic, dejected, somehow fundamentally stoic. Not in ‘Kill’. The narrator has no remaining emotional bandwidth for stoicism. All that’s left is a carnal desire to exact onto the narrator’s partner some fraction of the pain that the partner exacted onto the narrator, and the only way to do this is through murder. 

You will not find a gnarlier image in the Sufjan catalogue than ‘I want to kill him / I want to cut his brain’, and the reason it has so much guttural power is because it does not quite read as psychopathic or unstable. The narrator only wants to do this. They never will, and likely never even could – the verses of this song are in the past tense, and by the time we reach the present tense of the pre-chorus, the partner has left the narrator forever. ‘Kill’ is a logical conclusion, an exhausted final attempt to lash out in a situation where the narrator knows they have no power to do so. When the chorus finally breaks down at the end into a futile repeated ‘I want’, the song’s message is complete. It is violent, but the violence is less a horror tale, more a tragedy.

This is the interpretation that a direct reading of ‘Kill’ provides us, but there are all sorts of semantic curios in this one that complicate interpretation. I am, of course, referring to the extended horse metaphor that this song seems to be pushing. Both narrator and villain are referred to as mares in this song; there is talk of stalls, of stables, of riding into battle in a literal sense. It is rather late for me to mention that ‘Kill’ has a source text, but it seemingly does – Sufjan cites an obscure Sherwood Anderson short story named ‘The Man Who Became a Woman’ as the basis for this song, but has refused to elaborate further. The surface-level parallels are very clear given that ‘The Man Who Became a Woman’ is a story about a horse trainer, but from there the complications begin, because Anderson’s story is a) incredibly obtuse and b) seems to reckon far more with gender, and to a lesser extent race, than it does dysfunctional romance as a theme. The narrative in ‘Kill’ certainly does not retell that of its source material, at least not in a manner discernible to the listener. But the connections are there nonetheless.

A Sun Came is an album that brims with loving, albeit surface-level, tributes to Sufjan’s musical and literary influences, and ‘Kill’ is one such example. But Anderson isn’t the only reference point for ‘Kill’. It is highly probable that Sufjan is intentionally referencing Elliott Smith’s ‘Roman Candle’ in the chorus of this one. Sufjan sings ‘I want to kill him / I want to cut his brain’; years earlier, Smith sang ‘I want to hurt him / I want to give him pain’. And this is almost certainly intentional given Sufjan’s professed admiration for Smith and the various comparisons that have been made between the two songwriters over Sufjan’s career. (What makes things even more interesting is that ‘Roman Candle’ is a song about Smith’s violent step-father. The same systematic patterns of abuse are present in the lyrics of both songs, albeit expressed with more eloquence in Smith’s. Even if not Sufjan’s own stepfather – Lowell Brahms is by all accounts a beautiful, caring soul – one wonders if the subject of ‘Kill’ might have a real-life referent.)

One could spend days attempting to decode ‘Kill’, and this is fortuitous, because musically it does not offer much. The bulk of the song consists of a repeating guitar figure that has a sort of leaden weight to it, dragging it down into the muck. It is vaguely reminiscent of – and inferior to – the ‘Abraham’ ostinato that Sufjan would pen a few years later, but this one is played almost entirely on the lower strings and as a result lacks the same ethereal pop and spring that many Sufjan songs capitalise on. There is some double tracking, especially in the chorus and pre-chorus, but it doesn’t add anything substantial to the arrangement. Neither does Sufjan’s strained, upper-register vocal melody, but there is certainly a sort of confessional quality to it that suits the subject matter. 

All of this comes together to create a song that is resolutely, undeniably un-fun to listen to. It is most likely for this reason that Sufjan chose never to play this one live, unlike some of the other stripped-back folk ballads on A Sun Came. When Sufjan dips his toes in depravity – ‘John Wayne Gacy Jr.’! ‘Saturn’! – incredibly compelling, listenable, rich things tend to emerge, but at this early stage of his career, it seems that the pieces are just not quite in place yet. But there’s no denying that ‘Kill’ is a fascinating and in many ways remarkably compelling song, just one that does not feel as listenable as it could be. It’s fine. Early days yet. All of these songs helped create our modern concept of Sufjan Stevens.

[iisasarcasticlittleshite]

Suna x Reader (Nightmares)

For as long as you've known him, Suna Rintaro has had the weirdest sleep schedule known to men.

He's always awake at the oddest of hours and somehow still manages to be an athlete and take care of himself.

Google calls it polyphasic sleeping, and Suna's learned to love those lonely hours when the rest of the world is out cold.

The world looks so very different at three in the morning, with nothing but stars and street lights to beat back the shadows. The dark doesn't scare him, if he had his way, he'd live in a place without artificial light, a place where the shadows could sit and linger naturally.

These are the loneliest of hours, time he spends doing deskwork, going for a jog or just reading, waiting for his mind to tell him it's ready for a few more hours of sleep until dawn.

This wild sleep schedule of his is no news to you. By the time you started dating you'd walked in on his post-school naps more times than you could count.

What you didn't know, was that some nights, the comforting loneliness started to turn bitter, frightening.

Nightmares crawled into his usually dreamless slumber, the worst of them made him feel so very cold, like he was lying on a sheet of ice instead of his own bed.

Those nightmares only got worse when you moved in. Now, they were visions of your side of the bed, empty, untouched, as if you were never there.

They didn't happen every night, but on the nights they did plague him, he'd shoot awake and refuse to go back to sleep.

Knowing how light of a sleeper you can be, he resists the urge to hold you for as long as he can, he tries reading, pulling himself out of bed for a jog, but he can't bring himself to leave your side and one night, the panic is all too much.

You woke to a vice grip around your body, crushing you to his familiar warmth, so tight you could feel the clamminess of his skin against yours.

Still half asleep, you wriggle in his grasp, holding onto his strong arms as his grip only grows tighter.

'Baby?'

The slurred pet name, thick with your sleepy lilt, settles some part of him that had been thrown for a loop. He can't think of that image, of a bed left empty, a mattress staying cold.

'Nightmare.' He admits, nose buried in your neck, kissing at any exposed skin he can reach. 'Need you.'

'mm here.' You mumbled, fighting to wake yourself up enough to help him. His heart is pounding in his chest so hard even you can feel it, and something in his tone tells you how shaken this nightmare made him.

'I'm right here.' You declared, clearer now as your fingers found his sleep-mussed hair and gently smoothed down the wild silken strands. 'I'm not going anywhere, baby.'

He'll bristle if you call him baby in front of his teammates, makes a face like you tried to feed him something sour, but in private he loves to hear you call him something so simple and loving, loves to hear the pure affection in your voice.

Clinging to you desperately, he breaths in deep the smell of your shampoo and your skin, feels your pulse against his cheek, calm and steady, unlike his.

Typical of you to remain calm when he needs you too.

In daylight hours, he's the immovable object, the one that reminds you to keep a cool head, now here you are, massaging his scalp and guiding his breathing with your own, humming under your breath as a way of grounding his senses to you.

Jokes on you, he's trained himself to pay you the utmost attention a long time ago. He couldn't focus on anything but you if he tried.

Slowly, the cold grip of panic ebbed away and he could fill his lungs with air again, allowing him to slowly melt into your back.

Once he'd settled, you turned in his arms, making sure not to push yourself any further away from him than you needed to be as you cupped his cheeks and peered deep into those gorgeous eyes.

'Do you need anything, Rin? Water?'

Lower lips half jutted in a pout, he nodded into your palms, laying one hand over yours to keep them in place. 'Yes please.'

He let you go only as far as your nightstand and let you help him sip from your water bottle before pulling you into his lap, hiding his face in your hair.

'You're so warm.' He muttered, kissing the shell of your ear.

'So 're you.'

'No, not warm like you. With you it's like cold never happened.'

You giggled, playfully dotting kisses to his sleepy face. 'You must be tired, you're saying cheesy shit.'

He looked up at you, and for a moment your eyes were trapped within his, endless and perfect as they shone with adoration. You knew he loved you, could never doubt it in your lifetime, just from that glimpse into amber eyes.

And then, it was gone, and he was smiling as he poked his fingers into your ticklish spots and immediately had you folding like a house of cards.

As peels of your laughter echoed far too loudly for the hours, Suna's heart sang with you, unable to help the smile on his face as he pinned you and watched you light up the world merely by existing, the nightmare long forgotten.

[terrence-silver]

How would 80s terry feel about being beloveds first kiss and significant other? Love your writing, some of the best I’ve read♥️

Part of Terry Silver would be convinced untouched, kissless virgins ceased existing as a concept around the time of the First California Gold Rush.

Okay, all jokes aside --- but then again, am I joking? Am I really? It's the 80's, the decade widely considered one of sex, drugs and rock and roll, and Terry Silver's own hedonistic, upper class lifestyle might lead him to believe, that hey, while people aren't all necessarily debauched (mainly because he's convinced they, unlike him, they simply can't afford it and people who can't afford things view life's pleasures as sour grapes, which, wooptie-doo, for all he's concerned) they still aren't as sheltered and as irrationally pure as to be entirely devoid of basic experience because, knowledgeable and analytical as he is, he doesn't figure that's realistic. Until he finds one devoid of basic experience, yes. As such, discovering beloved is like discovering a rare, improbable gem. Or a new continent! Quite literally. He isn't sure if he'd tease them for it, test if they're a liar even though he knows they're not (but hey, why deny himself the satisfaction of prodding and poking anyway?) cruelly laugh at them, laugh at himself for being so lucky to stumble upon them first, seduce them slowly, quickly --- allow them to beg to be seduced, play this fully seriously and pretend he's much less experienced than he really is to appeal to them or just claim them and ruin them for everyone else? Perhaps, all of the above? Like, this is the type of stuff money can't buy. A kissless virgin who's never felt the touch of a hand? A caress? Stroking, salivating, heaving and thrusting? Giving and submitting? Being guided, molded and taught? Open to opportunity? All opportunity? Good, bad, the very worst and the very best all at once? A blank canvas he can fill with anything he wishes? My goodness, he's hit the jackpot! He loves that. He loves it so much! He's a kid in a candy shop. Like, he'd be manic and enthusiastic concerning the prospect of, oh, I don't know, all the things he could possibly do, to the degree he ain't sure what he wants to do first.

You have to understand --- this is a man who has everything.

So, something he doesn't have? Or hasn't had before?

It's always alluring.

Someone who's suspectable and teachable? A wide-eyed innocent? Uncharted, untouched territory? Someone who's never known anything unless he's demonstrating it to them? A trust he can use or abuse if he so deems it? He can show them unimaginable sights and then discard them for it's own sake, deliberately, as an act of sadism, to let them wander desperate and heartbroken or he can take and devour them in the most selfish, possessive way imaginable. Perfect. Even more alluring. Options are endless. He wants them and he'll have them because he's decided already he's the most fitting person to show them everything. It's the Sensei and teacher in him that cannot resist the opportunity. It's the greedy Capitalist in him, meanwhile, that cannot resist just collecting the rare and the beautiful. So, beloved gets collected too. Like a once in a lifetime bottle of old vintage champagne or an unique piece of art only he has and nobody else --- and they get savored. Time and time and time again. So, how does Terry Silver feel about beloved never having had a significant other prior to him, going as far as to have never really kissed anyone before?

Oh, baby, he feels elated and as feral as one can get.

The World's truly his very own oyster.

Not that he ever doubted it.

[koco-coko]

OC Info Post: Bonnabel de Saint-Germain

(This is most certainly my most self-indulgent and somehow also my most thought-out OC. Enjoy my unadulterated silliness)

@drewadoodle hi here's the mansion baby (apparently i have one for the castle trio too except that one's fully an adult so if I post her I can tag you in that one too if ya want)

General:

Full name: Bonnabel de Saint-Germain

Nickname: Bonnie, Bon-Bon (Arthur specific), Bell (Theo and Vincent specific)

Birthday: November 8th

Likes: Outdoors, Pastries, Mousette, Reading

Dislikes: Sour Flavors, Math, Rules

Background: A mysterious infant showed up on Le Comte de Saint-Germain’s doorstep one night during a banquet with the residents, and she’s been called his daughter ever since. All she came with was a homemade birth certificate, a stuffed toy of a pastel blue bat, and a wax-sealed letter. The contents of said letter are only known to Comte and Leonardo and he has refused to share it with anyone else, even Bonnie herself. A strange injection Bonnabel took as a newborn has made it so that they are unable to detect what kind of vampire she is, though Comte doesn’t seem too concerned about that fact…

Through the Ages

(aka the main differences between Bonnabel’s different ages without getting into deep spoilers because I’m writing a fic with her hehe.) (Bonnabel is almost always portrayed in the Childhood stage. Sometimes teenage [mostly with castle trio])

Childhood– Bonnabel, wild and carefree. Don’t even try to make her sit still– she’ll bite your hands with dull, stubby fangs until you let her go. The biggest nuisance and agent of chaos the house has seen in a while. Temper tantrums and dramatic outbursts are common, and as a vampire, she’s really yet to understand her strength. Still… There is something endearing about her reckless abandon and pure fascination with life. She’s sweet and kind all the same, she just has her moments.

Teenage years– Outdoor play time has turned into calm walks through the garden and snack time is now tea time. Although Bonnabel’s matured since being in single digits, everyone can tell something about her is just… off. Maybe it’s the way she’s shy about everything, how reclusive she’s become, how utterly captivated she is by space, or perhaps the way she’s withdrawn from everything other than her studies. Her self-image couldn’t be worse (how could she ever compare to the greats of history she lived amongst, really?), and she’s really been pestering Comte about her past as of late.

Adulthood– Bonnabel, after many, many challenges, trial and errors, heartbreaks, and betrayal, has finally grown into her own skin. Well, sort of. She’s gained back some of the excitement she had when she was a little girl, but it’s been distilled into a fine wit and humor. Now, she simply does as she pleases, whether that be studying something to the point of burning into her brain to simply staying in all day and catching up on some novels. She’s a vampire! She’s got all the time in the world to get things right.

Physical:

Eye color: A pale orange, with slight hints of crimson in her pupils. It’s not very noticeable from far away but in the right sunlight it’s a bit more 

Hair color- Sandy blonde, like Vincent’s hair. Just a bit more colorful than that.

Disabilities- Undiagnosed because of the century, but most certainly has ADHD and dyscalculia (unable to some basic math)

Height- Childhood: 4’1, Teenage: 5’0, Adulthood: 5’11

(i dont have any drawings so um yeah i just used to ikevamp doll haha)

Relationships:

I’ll be splitting the characters into archetypes– how Bonnabel sees each of the residents as a family unit, then going a bit more in-depth.

Brothers– Arthur, Vincent, Theo, Isaac, Napoleon, Jean

– Napoleon: The big brother. No matter how Bonnabel’s feeling, whether she wants to play or vent to him, he’ll make time available. Bonnabel likes hiding and cuddling into his cape and constantly pesters him to teach her fencing. Instead, he’ll teach her how to cook pastries (it’s not like Jean or Vincent are going to do it). 

– Arthur: He’s the one Bonnabel goes to if she wants to get away with something or is bored out of her mind. He’s the fun brother and almost lets her get away with anything. Especially when it comes to teasing Isaac. He’ll also sneak her chocolates from time to time. She loves playing detective with him and likes to act out scenes from books with him. Plus, Vic and Bonnie are utterly enamored with each other, so it’s always a good time with Arthur.

– Vincent and Theo: How could they not feel like her big brothers? Vincent is the only person Bonnie is nice to no matter her mood and he’ll let her watch him paint if she’s ever interested. They tried finger-painting when she was little, but she tried to eat the paint and it’s been banned for the time being.

Theo, on the other hand… It’s a bit more tenuous. Bonnabel didn’t understand being called a mutt or pup was a sign of affection at first, but the two clicked once the misunderstanding was cleared up. As a little girl, Bonnabel drew a picture of all three of them holding hands with both Vincent and Theo titled ‘big brothers’ and that might be the closest Theo was to ever crying in front of his brother. He now has it framed in his room.

– Isaac, Mozart, and Jean: All in the same boat- didn’t get along at first, but later on they became close. Mozart’s relationship with loud and wild Bonnabel is… strange, but he does seem to be able to talk sense in her. She only recently got unbanned from the music room. Mozart’s bedroom is still off limits. Isaac was wary of her (especially because she liked Arthur so much), but they get along once she’s older and quieter. Sometimes they stargaze together. Jean has always been kind to her, but never got too close. Well, until Bonnabel insisted they study reading together and now it’s not uncommon to see them reading fairy tales together. Jean has promised to teach Bonnabel fencing one day, too, behind Comte’s back. 

Weird Uncles– Dazai and William

Dazai: Dazai is a nutcase, but in a fun way! He’s always speaking in riddles, but at least he’s not boring, right? She doesn’t interact with him that much, but when she does, she’s surprised by the words of wisdom she receives. She also has joined forces with him to absolutely torment Isaac, except she’s the one who has to apologize and learn a lesson. He’s fun, just weird.

William: Bonnabel doesn’t see him often. When she does, Puck is close behind and the girl and rabbit become inseparable. Bonnabel is utterly infatuated with Puck and gives him all of her attention, booping his cute little nose at every chance. The one bad thing about seeing Will is, well… tiny little Bonnabel can’t understand him at all. Vincent or Comte have to translate for her if they ever visit the villa because she’s too shy to ask him to speak simpler.

Parents– Leonardo and Comte

Comte: Dearest papa! It’s his life mission to make sure Bonnabel never has to know a day of pain or fear. Sure, perhaps the idea of raising her without the same pressures of nobility and vampirism that he did is a selfish wish, but she’s smiling everyday in the mansion. He has to be doing something right, right? Comte was Bonnabel’s whole world as a little girl. Going into her teenage years, their relationship becomes strained, much to Comte’s confusion and sorrow. (And yes, the pun in Bonnabel's name was intentional, even if he tries to deny it).

Leonardo: Babbo! Whenever there’s a Comte level matter but Bonnabel’s worried he’ll be mad at her, she goes to Leonardo. While hugging Comte smells like fine wine and perfumes, Leonardo smells like book pages and cigars. Both scents have become safe places for her. They take naps together a lot. Especially when Bonnabel is upset. Sometimes she’ll find him sleeping on the floor and join him because she’s bored, using his chest as a pillow. A lot of Bonnabel’s toys and even her bed are made by him.

Auntie and ‘Mama–’ MC/Mitsuki and Sebastian

– When Bonnabel was learning how to talk, she called Sebastian ‘Mama’ and it kind of stuck. Nowadays, she just calls him Sebby (he’s not the biggest fan, but nothing he’d really want to complain about), but sometimes they still joke about that name despite Bonnabel having zero recollection of it. Unfortunately, Bonnabel almost never listens to what Sebastian has to say unless he flicks her forehead. 

Mitsuki was called Auntie from the start. Bonnabel respects her a lot and will mostly listen to her authority, so she is definitely more of an aunt than a sister to her. This is also due to Mitsuki having to help Comte in certain aspects of raising her, such as bathtime and the likes. A part of their strong connection simply is the fact they’re the only women in the mansion.

BONUS! Castle Trio (met at Teenage Stage)

Charles-Henri: After a bit of apprehension, they get along pretty well. Whenever Bonnabel starts stressing out, Charles will pop up and distract her with games, food, or something else. He also tends to encourage any of her fixations no matter what, when, how and why.

Faust: Bonnabel is completely creeped out by him, but… He seems to know her somehow. Sort of like an uncle you haven’t seen in years but keep telling you things they remember. Bonnabel thinks he might know about her birth parents, but she's too shy and nervous to ask him. He’s… polite, at least. Doesn’t seem to try and bother her very much, but he still gives odd vibes. She does not want to be alone in a room with him.

Vlad: Oh… him. Yeah. It’s weird. On one hand, they have a shared trauma they can bond over, and on the other, he’s trying to hurt her family. Sure, he saved her from certain death that one time, but his dream has become so twisted she can’t help but distrust him. Still, it’s not as if they don’t get along. Actually, they have a lot more in common than one might think. 

[missmoonfrost]

Catching a cold - a wolfstar microfic

~1200 words of pure comfort

The night that Sirius and Remus finally admit their feelings and become a pair just happens to be the week marking the beginning of Quidditch season. Remus fusses over Sirius flying around in pouring rain, which Sirius of course finds cute but totally unnecessary. However, caused by the weather or not, he actually does catch a cold the day after the semester's first Quidditch match.

Sick Sirius is a whiny Sirius. When he’s got a cold, everyone knows it. Each of his coughing fits ends with a few extra coughs and a whimper.

Growing up, Sirius' parents only considered his well-being at the bottom of a long list of far more important matters, such as his reputation, acts, and appearance – and how they reflected on the family name. But if these matters were sorted, being sick was one of the few occasions when his mother showed a sliver of care.

It could sound something like: “Oh send up some tea for that sniveling boy, I can’t stand hearing it. And make sure there’s scones and honey with it.”

Or that time he showed up to their private flying lesson with a fever: “What are you doing? You should be in bed. Regulus, go fetch him a warm blanket immediately. Now rest, we don’t want the whole house to get sick, do we?”

In essence, it had been one of the few problems he had been able to voice unpunished.

So, this time just as every time before, he sits in an armchair in the common room and lets everybody know just how sour his throat is and that he has got exactly the kind of headache that means a fever is developing.

But instead of mimicking the others' eye-rolling and mildly annoyed snickering, Remus for the first time embraces just how adorable he finds this helpless Sirius. He kisses his forehead, strokes his hair, puffs his pillow, swaddles him in a blanket, fetches him a cup of tea, and quietly sits reading with an arm around him. And Sirius falls in love all over again. Passion and fun are one thing, they have plenty of it. But he has never ever felt this cared for.

Only when Remus tries to spoon-feed him at dinner in the great hall he smiles: “You’re embarrassing me, Moony.”

Smiling right back Remus teases: “That’s what happens when you whine like a baby.”

Sirius blushes. And he is so cute that Remus has to kiss him, despite all people around them. It’s just a quick soft kiss on the lips, but it makes Sirius blush even more. Remus showing the world that they belong when Sirius is his usual sunny center of attention is one thing. But today? When he’s a red-eyed sniveling mess? It’s astounding.

That night Remus carries his pillow and blanket to Sirius' bed and lays down beside him. He lifts the blankets carefully to not let in cool air and let his warm body up against Sirius back. He kisses his neck and runs his fingers softly through his hair. When Sirius turns around, he kisses him.

“Don’t kiss me”, Sirius mumbles, “you’ll get sick, too.”

But Remus ignores him and they kiss until Sirius turns around again and falls asleep snug and secure in Remus' arms.

The following days the others note a significant reduction in whining. Because thanks to Remus, Sirius has cold water, warm tea, and tissues at hand before he can say it. He has nearly constant company and a loving hand clutching his whenever he reaches for it.

When Sirius starts to get better, Remus doesn’t demand any return of the affectionate favor. He just quietly withdraws, leaving Sirius feeling just a little alone before he returns to his usual activities. He wouldn’t have attended a quidditch training just yet, but this afternoon it’s only a tactics-discussion.

When he comes back Remus is already asleep and he decides to not disturb him. No wonder he is tired after meticulously taking care of him for almost a week. He deserves some alone time.

The next day Remus is pulling his robe tightly around himself and shuddering a little as he moves quietly between classes.

“How are you, love?” Sirius rubs his back with a concerned look.

“It’s nothing. Just tired.” Remus tries to smile reassuringly and still his sniffles. Because of course, he’s got a cold now. Just like Sirius said he was.

Sick Remus is a quiet Remus. If he could, he would disappear altogether or become invisible until it was over.

Remus clearly remembers being a child, crying in pain after a full moon. His parents sitting on the outermost edge of the bed, patting and stroking him with awkwardly outstretched arms and weary eyes. That troubled look in his mother’s eyes every time he mentioned feeling tired or nauseous or having a nightmare. His parent’s voices from the kitchen, low and worried, when they thought he’d fallen asleep. Not quite sure how the whole lycanthropy-thing worked, always wondering if it could mean something would happen with him, something that made him dangerous.

In essence, being ill has always been a bad thing. A thing that drives even the ones who love you away.

So, when Sirius climbs the portrait hole and enters the common room after that night’s detention and sees Remus sitting in the furthest corner, muffling his coughs as best he can and discreetly holding a tissue to his running nose, he finds it absolutely heartbreaking.

He fetches Remus' favorite sweater, a cup of tea, and a bar of chocolate. He moves a chair to sit right next to Remus but ends up sharing his armchair instead. And Remus just can’t believe how lucky he is to have someone willing to be close to him always, not just on his bright days. He ends up closing his eyes and resting his head against Sirius' chest. When he falls asleep Sirius carefully puts a piece of parchment to mark the side Remus thumb is and puts the book away. He takes Remus in his arms and tries to carry him, but has to put him down by the stairs. Remus smiles and let himself drowsily be led up to his bed and swiftly drifts back to sleep.

That night he clings feverishly to Sirius and burrows his face against his chest. Every time Sirius is woken up by Remus gripping at his clothes or holding him crushingly tight in his sleep, he smiles and gently strokes the hair out of his clammy face and rubs his back for a little bit.

The next morning Sirius carefully wraps Remus in the blanket and asks what to bring him for breakfast. After “You don’t have to bring anything”, “Whatever”, and “Doesn’t matter” are met with silent refusal, Remus sighs “Toast with jam, then”. Sirius brings him one piece of toast with every kind of jam he can find and a big cup of tea.

And over the course of the next days, Remus slowly starts to voice his needs and wishes. First, because he knows that if he doesn’t, Sirius will just keep asking until he gets an answer, and Sirius who normally can be unreasonably stubborn has taken this principle on with unimaginable determination. And later, because he knows that all Sirius wants is to do whatever he can to make him feel better, even if it’s something childishly needy like holding his hand while he naps.

And when they are both themselves again, they look at each other in a different light. They both know that what they have is worth the world and they are never ever going to give it up.